Tooth and Nail
by Ladyhawke 620
Summary: A series of arguments threatens to tear the Lady's crew apart. Will they manage to put aside their differences in time to save themselves, or is this the end? Story number five after Progeny, Tempting the Fates, Snails & Crackers, and the Lady Comes Home
1. Chapter 1

**Tooth and Nail - **

_Disclaimer - Set in the timeline originally created by Rachel500, of ten years after Dom's death in the events of the original Blackjack episode, this story utilizes characters created and owned by Belisarius and Universal from the original Airwolf series as well as USA's Airwolf II season. They are not mine and I make no claim to them or profit from them. No copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Seb, Nicky and Amelia were created by Rachel500 and belong to her. Roper and Jade are mine, as is the story._

* * *

_Introduction - Tooth and Nail is the fifth story in this vein, and is set after Progeny, Tempting the Fates, Snails and Crackers, and The Lady Comes Home. It takes place ten years after the events of Blackjack where Dominic died. Stringfellow Roper is Hawke's grown son, Ho Minh from the episode "Daddy's gone a huntin' in Season 1 of the series. Seb is Stringfellow Hawke's younger brother by nearly eighteen years - if you need background on this character, I strongly suggest going back and reading Rachel500's stories. _

* * *

The morning dawned crisp, cool and clear, the wind coming off the ocean ruffling his hair, the blondish strands catching and lifting on the breeze. Hazel gray eyes squinted at the horizon line watching the waves, surfboard tucked under one arm. Definitely, the perfect day he thought - no people, no worries, no Firm. Nothing but him and the perfect wave.

Tossing the surfboard into the frothing water, Seb waded in suppressing a shiver at the still cool water against his skin. Walking out chest deep, he pushed up, sliding astride the burnt orange surfboard before beginning to paddle out.

It slid across the waves like it was a part of them, his long, lean arms effortlessly slicing into the water and drawing the board out to the wave line.

Ahead of him, a wave rose cresting and he turned the board letting it carry him as he pushed up, biceps flexing, toes gripping, balancing. One with the board and the water, sliding along the flume, trailing a hand in the water.

The wave ebbed, and he dropped down into the water to paddle out again. This he had missed, he thought idly letting his thoughts roam. The peace, the oneness…a world apart from his life at the Firm, he thought bitterness creeping back in. He shoved it away determinedly, refusing to let that world encroach on this one.

Paddling out through the weed line again, he looked up. The waves were beginning to pick up - the earlier, slow rolling swells gaining size and speed. A bigger challenge, one he loved, one that suited his restless mood.

On the sandy-white beach, another figure appeared, long, dark hair blowing in the wind, glaringly bright fuchsia board in hand. In spite of himself, Seb scowled. Much as he appreciated the long, lithe grace of the figure at the water's edge, he still wasn't excited about the prospect of sharing his little piece of paradise.

Turning, he paddled out again, catching the next wave, slicing through the water, feeling the wind and the salt spray rush past him. It was as if everything else fell away in that instant he pitted his skill against nature - and became a part of it.

Floating on the swell of the next set, he glanced south along the shoreline, spotting the lone figure riding the swell there. She was good, he admitted grudgingly - the sleek, natural grace that skimmed the water took his breath away. Anyone who said women couldn't surf, obviously hadn't seen her.

Floating astride his board he watched her, the sun warming his shoulders, catching the occasional wave now, the subtle strain of unused muscles beginning a pleasant ache.

Time for a couple more sets, he thought, before he called it a day. The slow rollers of the morning had been replaced by the faster curls of midday, and those replaced by the occasional eight and ten footers you could ride the curl through - if you dared.

Faster and arching they beckoned, daring him to test himself against them. Best surfing he'd seen in weeks, he thought. Heck, the only surfing he's seen in weeks, he grinned, the joke on himself. It was a challenge he couldn't resist - timing and balance pitted against Mother Nature's awesome power. Glorious if you made it, often painful if you didn't.

Riding the wave was something else - getting sucked under by it, well…Still, he couldn't resist, flinging himself down on his board and sluicing towards the next wave. The girl was beside him now, her grin wicked and challenging as she joined him.

Together, they caught the next wave, balancing down its front, salt spray slinging behind them. Exhilaration pumped through his veins, his joy doubled by it being shared with another like minded soul.

The wave arcing behind them he rode it to it's end, only to find her right behind him. Tumbling gracelessly off the board, he bobbed up grinning and slinging water from his eyes. "Now that was something else!" he exclaimed.

Kneeling and scooping water, she eased down beside him, the dark hair plastered to her head like a seal's. Beautiful green eyes sparkled. "You better believe it," she tossed back.

Climbing aboard his surfboard, Seb laughed. "That alone would've made today worthwhile."

Laughing back, she smiled. "You betcha."

This time they both grinned. "Seb Hawke," he said introducing himself.

"Jade Sinclair," she returned, her dimple flickering. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hawke."

"Seb," he rejoined. "So, how long you been surfing?" he asked.

"Couple hours," she teased, laughing at his raised eyebrow. "Well, more like forever," she murmured. "At least it seems like it. I practically grew up here. Just don't seem to get to make it out here much anymore."

"Know what you mean," he said sobering. "But days like today make up for it."

"Speaking of which," she said. "I think we've got time to catch a few sets before we call it a day."

Catching her eye, Seb gestured behind him at the crashing surf, "Then what're we sitting here for?"

Side by side they paddled out, Seb's longer arms outdistancing hers, just barely. Stroking his way up to the cresting wave, Seb turned, catching the wave as he did so. Jade scrambled lithely to the top of her board beside him.

Zig zagging the board, he swung away from her, swerving back and then crossing behind her. Agilely correcting the faltering balance he crouched, leaning into the curling pipeline. Racing the closing tube, he eased out of it doubling out of it in the froth.

Turning back, he watched Jade sluice her way out to the next set, long, tan arms pulling her up the face of the swell. Propelling herself downward, she caught the wave just ahead of the break hurling herself down the slope, leaning into the breaking curl.

Seb's breath caught in appreciation. She was poetry in motion, he'd always thought that a corny phrase until now. Watching her, he was quick to admit it fit.

Scrutinizing as she leaned into the curl, hazel eyes narrowed as he gauged the water, and the speed of the breaking wave. It was starting to gain on her.

A feeling of unease tightening in his chest, he turned his own board, watching, willing her faster, to outdistance the curl. The lip was nearly even with her now. Unthinkingly, he began paddling in her direction.

The curl was curving over her now, the fuchsia surfboard skimming the surface, half-hidden by the falling, crashing tube of water. He held his breath unaware he was doing it as he watched.

"Damn," he cursed, flopping down and stroking in earnest now. The wave crashed and slammed in front of him, foaming froth and sea spray. Pouring in a never-ending onslaught it curved over her, winning the race between board and water. The sleek fuchsia board popped to the surface, splitting the water.

Scooping water, then on his feet, toes gripping the board, hand trailing the curve he watched for Jade, praying to spot her dark flowing hair, a glimpse of her anywhere.

The water crashed behind him now, tunneling, creating a tube, glorious to ride, deadly to get caught in. He was oblivious, watching only to see if she broke the surface of the water after the wave had caught her and dragged her under. Nothing, he thought, fear clenching his heart. Casting a glance sideways, he spotted her board floating towards shore - no sign of her though.

Despairing, he outran his own wave without thinking, the movements purely instinctive as he sought her.

A dark head broke the surface ahead of him, one arm flailing weakly. Spotting her, the foaming white water pulling her under, Seb sucked in a breath, arms wind milling as he caught his balance, crouching poised on the end of the board. Knifing his hands, he dove into the water as it slammed around him.

The water roiled about him, tumbling him, rolling him as he fought for the surface. Above and below converged into one swirling, frothing, foaming mass sucking him downward. Stroking powerfully, he fought his way upward, his head breaking the water, salt in his eyes, and nose and mouth.

Gasping he sucked air, still hunting for some sign of her. "Jade!" he yelled, the cry frantic, breathless. "Jade!"

Ahead of him, a dark head surfaced long tendrils floating like seaweed on the water as she struggled to stay afloat. Even as he watched, she sank beneath the waves again.

"Jade!" he cried, her name ripped from his lungs as he stroked towards her, muscles bunching. Desperately, he clawed his way through the water.

Tan fingers broke the water in front of him again, her head right behind. She gulped a breath of air and then was gone.

Grabbing a breath he dove after her, his fingers reaching, stretching frantically. Something brushed through his fingers and instinctively he grabbed for it, clenching his fingers and heaved. Buried to his elbows in her swirling dark tresses, he dragged her upwards by her hair.

Together they broke the surface, him hauling her upright, supporting them both as they floated. She gulped in choking gasps of air, spitting sea water as she did so.

Wrapping his arm around her chest, he pulled for shore with his other arm. Weakly she trailed behind, beginning to stroke with one arm as he supported her weight.

As one they pulled for shore, the distance seeming insurmountable as Seb began to tire. Jade was beginning to regain some strength, but he was about gone. Chest heaving, arms burning he'd about decided he was never going to make it when his foot brushed sand beneath him. Stumbling, he staggered to his feet, dragging her with him as he did so.

Reeling and tottering, they lurched out of the surf, collapsing on the wet, white sand. Rolling to his back, Seb just laid there chest heaving, and numb with exhaustion. Beside him, Jade wasn't much better. Red rivulets still ran wetly down her arm, mingling with the salt-water that dripped off her.

"You okay?" he gasped, finally finding enough energy to ask the question.

For a moment, she simply lay beside him breathing, before she answered. The words when they came were breathless, tired. "Yeah," she whispered quietly, "Thanks to you."

His fingers tightened on her hand.

"…sorry I about… mucked it up for both of us," she murmured.

"You didn't muck it up," Seb whispered wearily, blue-gray eyes meeting her green ones as he turned his head towards her. "I'm just glad we're both here to tell the tale and survive."

"That makes two of us," she murmured weakly. "So much for a perfect day," she whispered, tears threatening.

"Perfect, so far as I'm concerned," Seb replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. Slowly, he pushed up, his arms trembling with the effort. "I'll go see if I can find the boards, stay here."

She nodded, too exhausted to protest. Besides, her left arm was positively aching now. Cradling it against her ribs, she closed her eyes, keeping them too much of an effort to manage any longer.

What seemed like only a minute later, a slender, square-tipped hand shook her awake. "Hey, come on sleeping beauty," he teased, a beautiful grin lighting his storm colored eyes. "Time to wake up."

"Mmph," she muttered, struggling to sit up. "No luck, huh?" she frowned, thinking longingly of her new board and seeing his empty hands.

"Well,…" he drawled. "Actually, yes. They're both sitting on my back step."

"Oh,…" she answered, not really following.

"Didn't think I was up to balancing both of them and you," he admitted flushing.

Comprehension dawned in her emerald green eyes. "Oh, Seb you don't have to," she protested. "I'm perfectly capable of seeing myself home, if you'd give me a little help getting the surfboard into my car."

"Maybe," he answered, blonde hair fluttering in the wind. "But I'd like to."

Solemn blue-gray eyes quietly met hers.

Searching his face, Jade felt a grin dimple her own. Maybe she was tireder than she had thought previously, and it would be nice to have someone look after her for a change. "You're sure?" she asked, looking up at him.

The gorgeous grin he shot her, liked to have melted her on the spot. "Positive," he avowed, reaching down to give her a hand up. Carefully, he avoided her scraped and bruised left arm, as he set her on her feet and wrapped a companionable arm around her waist.

Wavering slightly, Jade leaned into him, breathing in the salt air and the warm, sunscreened scent of him. Looking down at her with concern in his eyes, he drew her closer to his side. "It's just a little way up the shoreline," he murmured as they walked, white sand shifting beneath their feet.

Feeling a little lightheaded, she nodded, long, black silken tendrils whipping around both their shoulders in the wind. He was awfully nice, she mused fuzzily, feeling his muscled arm embracing her protectively. And despite everything, she had to admit she wouldn't trade the experience of having spent the afternoon surfing with him.


	2. Chapter 2

"You know, I just don't understand you," Saint John exclaimed looking up at his brother, balanced precariously on the top of the ladder working on the Jet ranger.

String yelped, the wrench slipping and catching him square across the knuckles before it clattered to the concrete floor below. Wincing, he held his hand. "Understand what?" he grumbled.

The rangy blonde frowned. "You," he groused. "You complain about flying missions for Michael due to the danger to you and your family, and then you sign on for this stunt." Reaching down, he picked up the wrench and handed it back.

"Not the same thing," String retorted, blue eyes flashing as he reached for the wrench in Saint John's hand.

"Really," his brother replied grimly. "Then tell me how it's different. It's a stupid stunt, that's unnecessarily risky. You get yourself hurt, maimed or killed and it's every bit as devastating to your family and the business as getting killed flying Airwolf."

String's blue eyes shot to his brother. "Not here," he hissed angrily.

Eyebrows shooting up, Saint John threw up his hands in exasperation. "Nonetheless, little brother you know what I mean."

Setting the wrench down on the edge of the Jet Ranger, String scowled. "First of all," he growled, his voice dangerous, "I am not your little brother. I haven't been for a long time, Saint John. Brother yes, little no. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions - I have been for quite a while now."

"Second," he continued, "It is entirely different than flying a mission for Michael - which actually I have no problem with doing, so long as the intel is solid. My problem comes in when the supposed good guys are trying to kill me and my family. That has a way of getting old in a hurry.

This stunt is neither of those things. I will plot out my own flight plan for it, despite whatever the movie-eggheads hand me, and you should know that," he said heatedly. "Just because they say something can be done, doesn't mean they have a clue. I figure at this point, I've got a few hours flying experience on them and I certainly plan to use it to my advantage.

Besides, Saint John, we need the money. The charters haven't been good lately - nobody to fly them in part and the bills are piling up. This stunt would go a long way towards alleviating the problem."

For a minute, his brother simply gaped at him. That had to be the longest speech he'd heard String give in…pretty much ever. Then his brain kicked in.

"That's all fine Hawke - as long as you don't get yourself killed doing it. And you've yet to convince me you're not taking an unnecessary chance of doing exactly that."

String slung down his work rag in irritation. "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't have to 'convince' you," he snarled. "Last I checked, I was an equal partner in Santini Air and able to sign my own contracts."

Clambering noisily down the ladder, Hawke threw the wrench in the tool box angrily. "I said I'm doing the stunt, Sinj. I meant it," and with that he stormed out of the hanger.

Shaking his head in wonder, Saint John Hawke simply stared after his brother in wonder. It was true, money'd been tight making payroll as of late and the bills were mounting, but he'd never expected String to take this tactic to resolve it. He only hoped his 'cure' didn't prove to be worse than the disease.

* * *

Settling Jade comfortably on the couch, Seb headed into the kitchen to bring her back a glass of lemonade. Tiredly he raked a hand through his short, blonde hair still sticky with salt water. Man, he needed a hot shower, he thought wearily. He ached in places he hadn't even known he had.

"Sure you don't want me to drive you down to the clinic?" he called, thinking of the pinched, pained look around her eyes and the way she was cradling that left arm.

"Umh…no," she called back after a moment. "I'll be fine, Seb. Look I really have to be getting back…"

Two glasses of lemonade in hand, Seb walked out of the kitchen. "Don't rush," he murmured. "If you don't want to go to the clinic I won't make you. I just thought it might not hurt to have a doctor take a look at that wounded wing of yours." Storm blue eyes met hers. "It does seem to be giving you a lot of pain."

Snatching her hand away from her scraped and bruised arm, Jade flinched guiltily, her eyes skittering away from his in discomfort. "No, no, I'm fine," she murmured, giving a smile as bright as it was false.

Seb raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay, well maybe not 'fine'," Jade backtracked. "But I'm okay." She raked back the tangled black strands from her face. She searched her mind for an explanation, even as her lips started spouting one of their own volition. "Besides, I'm supposed to go on a miss…er, job for my boss day after tomorrow and he takes a dim view of his employees taking off whenever."

"Yeah, but…" Seb started. "Surely he can understand you getting hurt on your day off."

Jade laughed, the dimple flickering in her cheek as she did so. "I wish…I never seem to plan these things, but they still come back to bite me in the end. I'm afraid he wouldn't quite see it your way."

Seb pulled a face. "Doesn't seem quite fair," he remarked.

"Maybe not," Jade agreed, "but that's how it is. To a point, I can understand, but there are times… Well, anyway let's put it this way showing up with a doctor's note won't quite cut it."

Seb scowled, obviously disagreeing.

Jade smiled. "I'm fine really. Probably pulled something. Nothing a couple days rest and some aspirin won't cure. Besides, it's not like I go out and do physical labor for a living!"

Realizing she had a point, Seb gave a half-grin. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, how 'bout something to eat?' he asked. "I heat a mean bowl of chicken noodle soup and I hear that goes a long way to curing whatever ails you."

Jade laughed. "I think that's colds, Seb."

"Maybe," he said quirking his eyebrows at her, "but it never hurts to err on the side of caution."

Giving him an appraising look, Jade smirked. "Preventative medicine?"

"Something like that," he teased.

"Well, when you put it that way…throw in a couple and you've got yourself a deal."

"Works for me," Seb acquiesced. "Now how 'bout I get you something clean to change into, and we figure out something for that shoulder? I feel like this salt water is about to glue my eyeglasses together."

"Mm-m, and I thought it was just me," she rejoined. "You got yourself a deal there, Mr. Hawke."

Smiling, he reached down a hand to help her to her feet. Splaying his hand across her back, he guided her to the guest bedroom and bath, promising to leave her a change of clothes on the bed while she showered.

Closing the bathroom door behind her and locking it, Jade grinned at her rather rumpled reflection in the mirror. Yes, she thought grinning like a schoolgirl. It had been a perfect day after all, and things were still looking up.

* * *

Taking the Hughes 500, Hawke headed for the cabin, still fuming. How dare Saint John tell him what he should and shouldn't fly. Like he wasn't old enough to figure it out for himself. Next thing you know, Saint John would have Cait on his butt for this. And much as he loved her, that woman had the temper to go with that fiery hair of hers. He had no doubt, if Saint John had got her stirred up, she'd be all over his case like flies on a pie.

Sighing, he raked a hand through his short brown fringe dragging it down his face wearily. He hated fighting with Saint John, it was like fighting with Dom had been - no matter what, he never really did win.

Swinging the Hughes around the last mountain outcropping, Hawke spotted the cabin at lakeside. Then he spotted Caitlin standing at the end of the dock, arms crossed and long red hair blowing in the wind.

"Crap," he muttered, angry again. There was no doubt about it. Saint John had radioed her, to let her know what was going on. And just as obviously, Caitlin was not pleased.

Lifting the rounded nose of the helicopter, String flared it, setting her down easily. He pulled off his headset and hung it overhead, even as she headed in his direction.

"Gigs up," he muttered. "Thanks Sinj, I needed this."

Musing, he wondered if this was how Dom felt when he'd given him grief over wanting to fly that stunt landing a helicopter on a moving semi-rig all those years ago. Probably, he mused irritably, in which case Dom was probably up there laughing his behind off. "Well, guess I'm about to find out how it feels for myself," he muttered.

Pushing open the cockpit door, he swung down to the dock below. He'd barely cleared the swirling rotor blades when she started.

"Stringfellow Hawke," Caitlin fumed. "What's this I hear about you flying this fool stunt?"

"It's not a fool stunt," he answered evenly, breathing in a deep breath and praying for patience.

"Not a fool stunt," she repeated disbelievingly. "And I suppose that's why Sinj called up here all upset?"

"I don't know why Saint John called up here all upset," he growled back, reining in his temper with difficulty. "At any rate, he should've stayed out of it."

"Stayed out of it?" Caitlin grimaced. "And what, let you get yourself killed?" She grabbed his arms, halting him where he stood. Blazing blue-green eyes met his, "I can't believe you of all people are doing this. We agreed Santini Air was not taking this stunt."

Hawke shrugged her off angrily, before starting for the cabin. "You might have agreed Santini Air wasn't doing the stunt. I never did."

She dogged his steps, obviously not about to let it go. "I'm not done talking, Hawke."

Damn, he thought. He could almost see Dom up there laughing his fool head off at him now. Heck, he hoped so, somebody oughtta be getting some amusement out of this dang fool thing, he sure wasn't.

"Well, I am," he snarled. "It's a stunt, Cait. Nothing more, nothing less. And that is how I make my living, last I checked. Goodness knows we could use the money." Drawing a deep breath he sighed, looking out over the lake, willing his pounding heart to slow.

Caitlin turned to him to make one last try. "Hawke," she said softly, placing her hand on his sleeve and looking up into the angry sapphire blue eyes. "The money won't do us any good if we lose you."

That was it. His temper flared like a lit match to kindling. He snatched his sweater-clad arm away from her, tension evident in every line of his body. "What do you think I am woman, stupid? I'm in no hurry to leave you, or Nicky or Amelia. I have no intentions of killing myself. But I'll be danged if I'm going to let everyone tell me what I can and can't fly. I'm a pilot, and a good one. I'm not ready for the bone yard, Cait."

"I'm not saying you are, String," she rejoined. "I just think this is a bad idea."

"I'm flying the stunt, Cait," he ground out. "It's not up for discussion."

"Hawke, it's a risky stunt. You know it or Saint John wouldn't have called me. Have you ever considered you could be wrong? That it might cost you your life?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he growled, a muscle leaping in his lean jaw.

"But I'm not, Hawke!" she cried, grabbing his sleeve.

Turning he stared at her intensely, before his mouth slashed downward unhappily. "I'm sorry Cait. You're going to have to," he muttered pulling her close and kissing the top of her head before he let her go, striding rapidly for the cabin.

* * *

"Santini Air," Saint John practically snarled into the phone, catching it on the third ring.

"Hey, Sinj," Mike Rivers exclaimed. "What're you doing there? I thought Hawke was opening up these days for you."

"He has to show up, to do that," the older pilot growled.

"What do you mean show up?" Mike asked in confusion. If there was one thing String was, it was reliable. Predictable, heck no. Reliable, well, whole 'nother story.

"He didn't show up this morning," his brother fumed.

"What'd you two do, have a falling out?" Mike teased. "Send him some flowers, Sinj and he'll be over it in no time."

Silence only greeted his comment.

"Saint John?" Mike asked in confusion. "I was only teasing, you know that."

"I know, Mike," the pilot sighed. "Problem is, you're not too far off the mark. I just wish a bunch of flowers would make it all better between us."

"What happened?" Mike queried in consternation, his ebullient personality subdued.

"We had a fight about some stunt String wanted to do," Saint John sighed.

"And?"

"String got it into his head he was going to do the stunt. I ordered him not to."

Mike winced. "Bad move, Sinj. You know how he is, I've known of whole herds of mule who aren't as stubborn as that man is."

"Well, it was a dumb stunt to sign on for," Saint John began defensively. "I just don't want him to break his damn fool neck."

Mike sighed. Definitely a bad move on Saint John's part. "He's his own man, Saint John. He won't take kindly to you undercutting his decisions. He's more than old enough to make up his own mind."

"Yeah, I noticed," his brother replied grimly. "Including really dumb ones."

Rivers sighed in exasperation. No wonder Hawke was on the warpath, he thought wryly.

"So what was it you needed?" Saint John asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Rivers came back to the matter at hand. "Michael's looking for Hawke," he commented. "The time table's been moved up."

"When?" Saint John asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Crap, Mike. That's when that stunt is scheduled."

"Well, maybe that'll get Hawke out of it," River commented. "Make all of you happy - well, except String, but who can tell with him anyway?"

Saint John ignored the jibe. "He won't do it, Mike."

"What do you mean?" the younger pilot demanded anxiety in his voice.

"Just what I said. He won't do it. He's already signed the contract with Herron Productions. They just called here."

"So get him out of it."

"Even if I could, he's given his word Mike. He won't back down. Not to mention, there's a performance contingency clause in the contract they just faxed over here."

"Contingency clause?" Mike repeated, beginning to feel like a parrot. "What kind of contingency clause?"

"Hawke does the stunt and nobody else, or they can sue us for everything we've got. He doesn't show, we stand to lose Santini Air."

Mike whistled. "What was he thinking, anyway? That was a fool thing to sign."

"Maybe," Saint John allowed. "But he knew we needed the money and they pay better than anybody else out there."

"Can he do the stunt?" Rivers asked in concern.

"On a good day, sure," Saint John responded. "The only thing is, he's been a little off since the accident. Reaction time or something. In Airwolf, she more than makes up for it, not to mention we've got back up pilots. The Jet Ranger, well, she's a whole other bird."

"Crap," Mike muttered, realizing why the other man was so upset by Hawke's bullheadedness.

"Yeah," Saint John sighed. "So shall I call Michael, or you?"

"I'll call him," Rivers offered resignedly. "So I'll see you in the morning, 7 am?"

"Yeah," Saint John remarked wearily. "I'll be there."

* * *

Piloting the Hughes 500 towards Santini Air, Hawke winced. Tired and his chest hurting, it wasn't his idea of a good way to start an aerial shoot. Still, it was what he'd signed on for, for better or worse.

Van Nuys in sight, he radioed the tower for clearance in the early morning light. Wouldn't do to crash the bird before he ever got started, he thought grimly. Expertly, he banked outside the hanger, letting the helicopter settle tail first slowly and gracefully.

Hanging the headset up on the hook overhead, he thought longingly of a cup of coffee. A quick glance at his watch killed that notion though. Since he was the only one here at this godforsaken hour and even he was cutting it close, it was a luxury he'd have to skip.

Shoving the cockpit door open, he hopped down heading for the hanger.

Ahead of him, the door opened and two men stepped out. Instinctively, String tensed waiting for his brother's recrimations. The sad thing was, in the cold, hard light of day he had to admit he felt foolhardy for agreeing to do the stunt. He was feeling every one of his years, and old wounds, as well as a few new ones were making themselves known, definitely not stunt pilot material today.

Rivers greeted him first. "Hawke," he said reaching for his hand. "Long time no see."

He returned the handshake. "Rivers." His eyes slid to his brother though.

"String," his brother greeted him soberly.

"Sinj," Hawke returned. Their eyes met for a moment, before Stringfellow dropped his gaze and looked away. "So what're you two doing here, this early?" he asked.

"The mission got moved up," Mike answered.

"Today?" String asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Saint John muttered.

"But…"

"It's covered, String," his brother interrupted bluntly. "I know you've got the movie stunt this morning. Mike and I'll take the mission."

String shrugged, "Yeah, but…"

"Don't worry about it. We've got it covered," Mike commented.

Hawke shot him a skeptical eyebrow. "Right," he drawled.

Knowing time was running out for both of them, Saint John clapped his brother on the back, as he headed out. "Take care of yourself," he groused.

"You too," Hawke said, watching him go, his heart aching for the words they'd exchanged.

Saint John started across the pavement towards Airwolf. Halfway there, he turned and paused. "Hey, String," he called.

"Yeah?"

"There's coffee on the stove," he yelled.

String grinned, his heart lightening. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. "Thanks, Sinj!" he called.

The older pilot raised a hand in farewell, even as he followed Mike to where the big, black helicopter sat like an enormous bird of prey.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning shone bright and full of promise, streaming through the gauzy white curtains and trickling across the bed. Stretching, Jade yawned lazily, flinching when her bruised arm made itself known. It took her a minute for her to place where she was, but when she did she couldn't help the sappy grin that plastered itself all over her face.

She and Seb had talked late into the night, neither one wanting the day to end - a bowl of soup and crackers turning somehow into so much more. It'd been late, when she finally admitted she'd had all she could handle for one day and made a bid to go home.

Seb had protested, saying it was too late and she was tired and she didn't need to be driving with her injured arm. He'd asked her to stay, offering her his guest bedroom and no strings attached. And surprisingly, she found herself agreeing. The thought of going home to her empty apartment suddenly had no draw compared to the gorgeous man beside her and his offer. Bemused she'd agreed, even as her mind was demanding to know where her independent nature had disappeared to.

And so, she was still here, the scent of bacon and eggs drifting lazily down the hall towards her. Never much of a breakfast person, she found her stomach growling and suddenly ravenous. "Shh-h," she whispered, grinning as she placed her hand against her flat stomach. "He'll think we want him for breakfast."

At that thought, the grin widened, wicked and the green eyes twinkled. "Well," she remarked to herself, "actually that sounds pretty good." Snickering, she tumbled out of bed dragging on the sweats and t-shirt Seb had loaned her the night before.

Wryly, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Well, if he likes me after this, I'll never be able to accuse him of being after me for my looks…so far, he's seen me looking like a drowned rat, and in his day old sweats with my hair uncombed. What a first impression." Shaking her head, she stepped into the bathroom and shower to see what she could do.

* * *

Scrambling eggs in the skillet, and trying not to burn the toast, Seb heard his shower kick on. Ah, Sleeping Beauty was up, he thought grinning. Guess that meant her arm must not be bothering her too badly.

Kinda a pity that, she'd be wanting to go home soon and he'd really enjoyed her company. He still couldn't believe he'd only met her yesterday. Gorgeous and with a sense of humor to boot, what more could a guy ask for?

The smell of burning toast wafted to his nose, and he turned from the pan of eggs in horror. "Crap!" he exclaimed, lunging for the oven and a potholder, hoping to rescue the toast before it was too late.

Snatching open the oven door, he grabbed for the cookie sheet, his thumb catching the edge of the rack as he did so. Yelping in pain, he slung the tray onto the stove with a crash. Smoke billowed out of the oven,

Long hair hanging wetly around her shoulders, Jade walked into this scene. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced at Seb shaking his burned thumb in pain and grabbed his hand without thinking to shove it under the kitchen faucet. Cold water pouring over both of their hands, she looked around the kitchen in bemusement. Eggs and bacon sat on the counter, the breakfast dishes piled into the sink and toast scattered across the stove and counter. Quite a change from the immaculate corner, she'd spotted last night before going to bed.

Turning slightly, her emerald eyes met Seb's blue ones. "I miss breakfast?" she asked, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

Seb flushed. A gourmet cook he was not, but usually he could manage breakfast fare without too much trouble.

"No, just the toast," he said reddening further. "Sorry."

Jade looked at the disaster and grinned. "And here I thought I was the only one forever burning the bread. It's good to know, it's not just me."

Her words putting him a little more at ease, Seb returned her smile with his own half-grin. "Nah, I'm an expert at it."

Picking up the dish towel from the counter, Jade gently dried his hand, turning off the faucet as she did so. "Better?" she whispered, her eyes colliding with his. Darn, she thought. She could practically feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

Storm-blue eyes stared, locked with hers. "Much," he whispered huskily, reaching for her head with his other hand, wrapping his fingers in the long, damp strands as he pulled her gently to him, his lips meeting hers.

Their breath co-mingling, Seb drew her closer unable to conceive how this woman he'd barely met held such sway over him.

"Mmm," Jade sighed, coming up for air. Placing a slender hand on his chest, she eased away. "Wow," she murmured. "Who needs toast after that?"

His own heart pounding Seb eased away, hoping he hadn't overstepped the boundaries too soon. Gathering up the burnt toast and tossing it in the trash can, he sighed heavily taking a deep breath. "I do," he said, reaching for the loaf of bread, the butter, anything to cover the sudden attack of nerves he was feeling.

Watching him, Jade's lips quirked. So it wasn't just her feeling the effects, she thought with relief. "Leave it Seb," she murmured, reaching for his hand and tangling her fingers with his. "There's more than enough for both of us." Pulling him towards the table, she picked up the pan of eggs, not letting go of his hand.

A grin of his own, lit his eyes as he picked up the plate of bacon to join her. She was right, who the heck needed toast anyway?"

* * *

A cup of coffee under his belt, Stringfellow Hawke expertly swung the Jet ranger he flew hard left, dropping her into a spiraling Hammerhead stall, his feet worked the pedals slowing her even as he eased up on the collective, pulling back hard on the stick with both hands, dragging her out of her deadly drop. Sweat trickled down his back, between his shoulder blades, sticking his shirt to him. Grimly he pulled out, sending the Bell Jet Ranger climbing hard into the clear blue sky. Banking hard right, he then sent her plummeting towards the hill below.

Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes. Slinging damp, coffee-colored strands out of blue eyes he worked to flare her upward, the ground rising to meet him at an alarming rate. The landscape rushed by below him in nap of the earth flight as the director screamed in his ear. Not for the first time, Hawke wished he could shove the radio down his throat.

Not a patient person by nature, this director was really testing him today. He'd struggled with unresponsive controls all morning, only then to have Rogers' nasal tones bark at him some more.

"Like to see him fly it," String grumbled, doing a stunt for the third time. Figures, the guy would decide he wanted some little detail changed after he'd flown it already. Sighing, he wondered how Saint John and Mike were doing.

"Any sign of the good doctor?" Saint John drawled.

"Not a one," Mike responded, running scans. "I tell you Sinj, I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"Oh?" the rangy older pilot responded.

"Yeah," the boyish, blonde pilot tossed back. "First they contact Michael out of the clear blue, wanting immediate extraction, now the time table's been moved up…"

"So far it sounds like typical Airwolf/Firm mission," Saint John retorted.

"Maybe," Mike allowed, "but I tell you something's wrong on the intel on this one Sinj. My gut says so."

"You sure you 'gut' isn't just hungry?" he retorted. "Look Mike, I don't like it any better than you do."

"Well, then…"

"Well, what?" Saint John blew out a breath in frustration. "We go in, we pick the doctor up and we get the heck out of dodge. Suriana is a heck of a lot better than it was a few years ago, but it's still not my idea of a mountain paradise.

"So, what is it the good doctor has that's worth all this subterfuge?" Saint John asked.

"Antidote to a really nasty chemical agent developed by some scientists in the Middle East. Nothing else has worked so far, and that stuff lingers forever. Give the local populace a fighting chance."

"Mm-m, and we get to be the lucky ones to go in and get it," Rivers commented.

"Something like that," Saint John rejoined.

"Alright, what's the plan then? 'Cause I don't see any sign of your American doctor."

"Fly over and take a scan. Assuming it looks good, drop me about half a mile out and I'll go in on foot, try to get our man out."

"So who's going to get you out?" Mike retorted.

Saint John shot a glance over his shoulder at his partner. "Well, why you of course," he said grinning.

"Great," Rivers groaned. "Why is it your plans always involve me getting shot at?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Saint John smirked.

* * *

Landing the Jet Ranger with a hard thump, String slid out of the cockpit slamming the door behind him, as the rotors swirled overhead. Raking his sleeve across his forehead, he sighed as he trudged for the hanger. "Somebody remind me why I do this for a living," he muttered. Wearily he snatched off his aviator shades as he strode through the hanger.

The phone started ringing as he approached the small front office. Rolling his eyes in exasperation he changed course, heading for the phone.

"Santini Air," he barked, grabbing it off the base.

"Mr. Hawke?" a young, attractive female voice asked.

Toning it down a notch, String willed himself to patience. The hanger needed the business, him snarling at the customers wasn't going to help any.

"Yeah, this is he."

A sigh came across the line. "Good," the voice cooed. "I was so afraid I'd missed you."

"Missed me, why?" Hawke questioned, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"This is Natalie. I work for a mutual friend of ours, Michael. He wanted me to call and let you know. The Lady is on her way back."

Releasing a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, String started to thank her.

"No," she interrupted breathlessly. "There's more - Saint John's been wounded, and Mike is flying him to the clinic here."

"How bad?" String clipped out, any attempt at tact and diplomacy gone.

"He didn't say. Our radio communications with them have been sporadic at best. Evidently they took some mortar fire and received some damage."

"Some damage?" String snarled. "What the heck, is 'some' damage?"

"I don't know Mr. Hawke," Natalie said, her tone growing frosty. "I'm only telling you what we know."

Reining in his frustration, String sighed. "Right," he said. "Sorry. So when do they get here?"

"They should arrive within the hour."

Rubbing his chin with a tired hand, String did some quick calculations. If he called Cait now, she could pick him up and they could be at the clinic by the time Saint John arrived, leaving either him or Mike to fly Airwolf to the lair. He guessed it'd probably be him depending on Saint John's condition and what shape Mike was in. He could only hope it was something minor, as he picked up the phone to call Caitlin.

* * *

Back at her apartment, Jade ran the comb through her curtain of long, straight dark hair a final time before Seb was due to pick her up. The last two days had fairly flown in his company and sadly she was left with only tonight before leaving on a mission for Archangel tomorrow.

Pursing her generous lips in a pretty pout, she smoothed a layer of lip gloss on as she mulled over the upcoming mission. For the first time she could ever remember, she was ambiguous about taking one. Always an adrenaline junkie, she knew the change in her perspective was due only to one man.

"Ah, Seb," she murmured, putting the last touches on her make-up, "how I hate to lie to you about this." But how, her traitorous mind demanded, would she ever explain it to somebody outside the community? It seemed far-fetched to her at times and she was living it.

"Besides," she sighed, "even if I could, it's much too soon." No, he'd just have to think of it as an ordinary business trip. She only could hope it went as planned.

A knock sounded at the front door and she went to answer it. Opening it she found Seb in jeans and a jacket, his blonde hair windblown, but devastatingly handsome none the less. Oh yes, she mused, a girl could get used to this.

"Hey," he greeted her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "You all ready?"

"Sure am," she said, giving him a quick peck as she grabbed

her purse. "So," she said, as she reached for his hand as they went out the door, "who did you say was going to be there?"


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm fine!" Saint John Hawke growled, with surprising ferocity for a man who'd been shot and then spent the next several hours being flown back from an obscure South American country. Untold miles and two mid-air refuels had done nothing to improve his mood, not to mention the pounding, screaming headache he had.

Coming down the hall with Caitlin and the kids on his heels, String felt a half-grin tug wryly at his mouth.

Shaking her head, Caitlin rolled her eyes at him, mouthing the word 'men' in disgust. He ignored her jibe.

Well, if Saint John were well enough to raise all that ruckus, he thought then obviously he must not be too bad off. Breathing a sigh of relief, String headed down the hall at a more sedate pace.

A metal tray hit the floor with a crash, followed by the yelling of raised voices. Shooting Cait a sharp glance, String started running for the room. Throwing open the door, his narrowed gaze spotted Dr. Annalise Benton, all 5'1" of her staring down his brother.

"Sinj, be reasonable," Mike cajoled, even as String entered the room.

"I am being reasonable," Saint John said, giving his teammate a baleful glare. "I do not need a sedative, and I have no intention of staying here for observation or anything else."

"Saint John…" Archangel began.

"Not interested, Michael," the rangy blonde pilot retorted, his voice cold. "Get me the papers so I can sign myself outta here." This was directed at the doctor.

"I will not, Mr. Hawke," she stated. Unless you're planning on taking one of them home with you and having them keep an eye on you, I refuse to release you. And the way you're acting, I can't imagine any one of them wanting you. You have a gunshot wound and a possible concussion, you have no business checking yourself out of this hospital."

"I'll take him," String said quietly, taking in the tableau before him.

Spinning at the unexpected voice behind her, Annalise Benton startled. In an instant though, the surprise was gone, replaced by exasperation. "I should've known!" she said throwing her hands in the air. "Mr. Hawke," she greeted him, her own tone cold.

"Dr. Benton," he replied. He inclined his head slightly in greeting. "Good to see you again."

The look she gave him said she found that highly improbable. "You do realize of course, what you are signing on for," she warned.

"Yeah, I know," Hawke replied sardonically. "I have been shot before."

"Alright," she shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's your funeral," and with that comment she swung out of the room to get the paperwork, her long, ebony braid swishing impatiently behind her.

Watching her go, Archangel raised a cynical eyebrow. "Boy you know how to clear a room."

Hawke gave him an amused grin, "You could say that."

Mike merely shook his head. "You know you're both crazy."

String shot him a cool look. "Certifiable," he remarked, not looking too concerned about it. He turned to face Saint John seated on the bed. "So when do we leave?" he asked.

* * *

Throwing her carry on on her shoulder, Jade walked through airport security. Having received a call from Michael in the wee hours, she was on her way to Suriana, South America instead of Bolivia as originally planned. It seemed the mission that had been planned in Suriana to get the mind altering Benziodine out had been a failure with Theresa Sanchez, a long time agent in place there, getting shot while getting a member of the retrieval team out.

She'd died, the retrieval agent had been wounded and their aircraft had taken mortar damage. Bloody incompetents, she thought irritably. A good woman was dead and a mission in shambles, all because they hadn't done their job.

Book in hand, she greeted the ticket agent. The girl, who Jade thought sourly could be no more than twenty eyed her ticket and then her passport. "Raquel Santiago?" she asked, eyeing the battered passport.

"Si," Jade replied.

The girl eyed her for a moment, before smiling and handing back the passport and ticket stub. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Santiago," she said.

"Gracias." Shoving the passport back into her bag, Jade took her seat. Now began the fun, she thought. Four hours to become Raquel Santiago. Good thing she was a fast reader.

* * *

"So, how bad's the damage you did to the Lady?" String asked, as he and Saint John headed towards the Lair in the Jet ranger. He'd already tried to leave his older brother with Caitlin at the cabin to no avail. All it had gotten him was annoyance from Cait and nearly getting his head bit off by Saint John.

"You make it sound like it was deliberate," Saint John groused.

"Sorry," Hawke said shrugging. "I'm a bit attached to her, and I prefer her without the additional holes in her."

"Yeah, so do I," Saint John retorted. "I also prefer me without the additional holes."

String shot him a cool eyed glance. "Okay," he said. "That being the case - how bad is she?"

Saint John had the grace to look embarrassed. "I really don't know, String. I was pretty out of it after I got knocked in the head."

String glared at him. "I should've left you at the hospital, shouldn't I?"

Saint John smirked. "Probably."

Rolling his eyes at his brother in disgust, Stringfellow Hawke swerved around a large rock in the uneven orange dirt road. His brother grabbed his side in sudden pain at the unexpected jounce.

"You know, you could've stayed at the cabin with Cait," String remarked conversationally.

"Yeah, right and let you have all the fun?" the older pilot retorted. "Don't think so."

A pause stretched out between them, when Saint John spoke. "Think Mike'll be there?"

String raised an eyebrow. "Mike yes. The parts…"

The committee still hassling Archangel over you taking Airwolf? Saint John asked.

"You might say that," String's tone was bitter.

His brother snorted sympathetically. "You'd think they'd learn."

"You'd think," String huffed, as he pulled into the darkened entranceway of the Lair. "But it hasn't stopped them yet."

Parking the jeep, they both paused for a moment taking in the sleek, black lines of the helicopter. There was no denying she was a beauty, Saint John thought, his hazel gray eyes panning over her. "Ah, crap," he muttered, seeing the fresh gash down her port side and the spidderwebbing across her windscreen. Scorch marks stained her pearl gray undercarriage black near one winglet, and the chain guns on that side showed obvious damage.

Standing beside him, String winced as he rubbed his chin. "Yeah, that pretty well sums it up," he remarked dryly. "And Archangel says I have a talent for understatement."

"Geez, String," Saint John apologized, "I really didn't know it was that bad. I'm sorry."

String sighed. "Well, you all made it back, that's what counts. Better her than you, her hides tougher. I had a feeling it was going to be bad." He didn't bother to mention how. "We'd better get to work," he said shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked around the helicopter's tail boom in search of Mike.

* * *

Outside Manitoa, the plane set down with a noticeable bump as the landing gear touched down. Twenty-five miles outside the little town of Contadora, it sparkled in the afternoon sun. It was also about two days walk from where Jade needed to be - obviously, she needed a vehicle.

Sighing she hitched up the strap of her carry on and went in search of one. Reliable, or halfway approaching it, vehicles in this part of the world were a rarity. Not for the first time, she wondered what had possessed the Syrian scientists to come here of all places to work on the drug and hopefully the antidote. She liked tropical as well as the next gal, she thought, swatting a mosquito, but this was ridiculous.

A jeep fishtailed past her, going far too fast for the uneven streets and she jumped to the curb to avoid being run over. Definitely she needed a car, she thought, wiping sweat off her forehead as it trickled past her hairline. But where? She couldn't in good conscience steal one from one of the struggling populace…

The ahead of her, the street opened up. Uneven ruts gave way to solidly packed dirt drive, which in turn gave way to gravel. Replacing the ramshackle clapboard buildings a neatly built frame building set in front of her, fresh paint glistening in the hot sun.

Of course, she thought with a grin. The ambassadors residence. They would not miss the use of one of their vehicles nearly so much… The only question was how to take it. Ducking behind an overgrown Bougainvillea bush, she settled in to wait and watch.

* * *

Scrunched beneath Airwolf's winglet String tightened the wrench on the same stubborn bolt he'd been fighting for the last fifteen minutes. Sweat ran down his forearms, gluing fine orange clay dust to the hairs on his arms and smearing where he wiped his brow. Jaw clenched, he fought with the bolt curbing the urge to curse and throw the wrench at something.

"Hey, any luck down there?" Mike queried. "I'm waiting on that wrench, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Hawke growled. "If I'm taking too long, come down here and do it yourself!"

"Oh no, buddy boy," Mike chortled. "Wouldn't want to deprive you of the fun."

Temper flaring, String gave in to temptation and heaved the wrench in Mike's direction.

"Hey!" Rivers yelped, jumping out of the way. "What was that for?"

"I'm done…for the moment," String grinned wickedly. "Knock yourself out."

The irreverent, blonde-haired pilot shot him a suspicious glance as he reached for the wrench at his feet. "Thanks," he said dryly.

"Don't mention it," String retorted, amusement lighting his eyes.

Grabbing the wrench, Mike clambered up to check out the main rotors. "I won't," he retorted.

Wiping grimy hands on equally grimy jeans, String walked over to where Saint John leaned against the jeep. "So how's she looking?"

"Better," the larger man commented. "Still no luck on that panel, huh?"

His brother gave him an irritated look. "You are kidding, right?"

"Can't fly her, 'til its fixed," Saint John remarked.

"You think I don't know that?" Hawke shoved away from the jeep, turning his back on his brother. "I need some air," he rasped. "I'll be back when I'm back."

Knowing he'd stepped in it again, Saint John shook his head. "Great," he tossed back. "We're on a time table and you're off on a nature walk!"

Mike raised his head as Hawke stomped past. "You two couldn't play nice for a while?" he asked, his light blue eyes concerned.

His friend shrugged as he dragged another wrench out of the tool box. Stiffly, he lowered himself down to the hard dirt patch String had just vacated. "Guess not," he grunted, going to work on the recalcitrant bolt.

Rolling his eyes, Mike went back to work on the rotor.

* * *

Knife in hand, Jade stripped the wires under the dashboard, casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder. Touching the coppery strands together, she twisted the two ends together. The hands might've shook, but they were efficient.

With a roar, the engine sprang to life and she slammed her foot to the floorboard on the accelerator. Boots pounded around the corner, the clatter of machine guns being pulled from shoulders seeking a target, Jade spun the wheel, dark hair whipping in the wind behind her and she fishtailed out the driveway. Bullets chattered into the concrete walls and then she was gone.

Raising her head, she tossed a quick glance over her shoulder laughing. "Gotta make your own breaks, guys." Tires screeching, she headed for Cantadora.

* * *

"Any news from Hawke on the repairs to Airwolf yet?" Michael asked Marella, as she walked into his office balancing two cups of coffee. Handing him one, she hesitated before answering. "No." She thought for a minute before continuing, "Have you considered suggesting he bring her back to red Star?"

The spy's good eye flew to hers. "I thought we agreed it was to our benefit for him to have her."

The tall, willowy dark-haired agent nodded. "We did, but considering the mood of the committee and the current damage she's sustained, maybe we should reconsider that position."

Michael frowned at her before shaking his head. "No. The essential problem remains - security. For all his faults, Hawke has a remarkable ability to hang on to that aircraft - and that's something we can't afford to lose."

Tasking a sip of her coffee, Marella nodded glumly.

"Did you ever hear anything more from Jade?"

"Current 0800 reports show her plane landed without incident. The ambassador's residence reported the theft of a vehicle. Shots fired."

"Thief got away?" Michael asked, smoothing his mustache.

Marella nodded. "Clean getaway by all accounts."

"Jade?" Archangel asked.

"Probably," Marella responded. "Odds support the theory. She has a fondness for taking government transportation - appeals to her sense of fair play, I think."

"Heaven help us, if she and Hawke ever hit it off. That's be a volatile combination with neverending grief for the Firm," he mused.

Startled brown eyes met his across the rim of her coffee cup. "But you put the two of them together on this project…"

"Remains to be seen whether Airwolf will ever make it to Suriana," Michael commented cynically.

Marella's dark chocolate eyes widened in surprise at his words. "But Jade's depending on it!" she began heatedly. "They're her backup, her only backup I might add!"

"Jade depends on no one, but herself," Archangel retorted impassively. "That's why I sent her in."

Marella's eyes flashed at him angrily. "That's not fair, Michael! You can't throw her to the wolves."

The spy glared back. "You know I wouldn't, unless there wasn't any other way, Marella. Besides, if there's any possible way of getting the mission done, you know Hawke will find it - even if he has to grow wings himself to get her out of there."

Her eyes softening, the female spy allowed a grin to tug at her expressive mouth at the thought of Stringfellow Hawke wearing angel wings. She quieried, "You really think so?"

His eyes sober as he met hers, Michael nodded. "I know it."


	5. Chapter 5

Jeep parked a quarter mile away, Jade crouched in the underbrush, binoculars in hand, watching the comings and goings of the squat concrete block building in front of her. Ugly by all standards, it was beautiful in her eyes, simply because she'd finally found it. Niched into the rough terrain, and painted a dull, dusty color, it blended with the surrounding hillside, innocuous in its blandness.

Movement in her peripheral vision had her swinging her binoculars into use. There! She thought triumphantly, spotting Dr. Shahir Muhammad. "Just the man I've been hunting for…" she muttered victoriously to herself.

She tightened the field of vision, her eyes narrowing as she watched him key in a passcode to the side door. She wished she could say she could tell what the numbers were that he was pressing in, but even binoculars could only do so much. Squinting, she watched for finger position, trying to guess which numbers he might be pressing first.

At best, it was only a guess, she knew. An educated one, but a guess none the less. She could lift the fingerprints for the buttons, but finding the order to avoid the alarm system might well be a project unto itself.

Even as she watched, a dark-haired man slipped unobtrusively into the shadowed side entrance. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, as he disappeared from sight.

Shahir Muhammad slipped surreptitiously into the sand-colored concrete block building. Walking down the linoleum floored hall, he let himself into the lab and the storage area. A scientist for over twenty years, it was only recently he'd begun to question his calling. The death of his colleague, Theresa Sanchez had caused him to question it even more.

Frowning, he stepped into the lab, a contradiction in terms if he'd ever seen one. Outside, Contadora boasted tattered, ramshackle, bombed-out buildings from the civil unrest of a decade ago and the ongoing gorilla warfare. Inside this building, the latest in lab equipment and hermetically sealed clean rooms.

At first, when he'd joined the team here he'd been ecstatic, thinking he'd at long last be able to concentrate on his work and his research without all the politics. Unfortunately as of late, he'd come to see that was a vain hope. Worse, he was less certain about what was being done with his work - and that worried him immensely.

Sliding into a lab suit, he donned his gloves before going through the airlock. Grabbing his charts and files, he walked over to the stainless steel refrigerator pulling out a rack of labeled vials. A variation of the Benzodiapine family, the new drug showed great promise.

Pulling a beaker of clear solution out from the same shelf, he began filling syringe after syringe for the days tests.

* * *

Drawing in a deep breath, String leaned against the warm, wind-worn surface of the rocky entrance to the Lair. Well-hidden in the Valley of the Gods, fields of Brittle Bush stretched as far as his eye could see, lending the landscape a soothing, idyllic quality. Too bad his mood was anything but.

He knew he'd been on a short fuse with both Mike and Saint John. Probably unwarranted, he thought wiping a damp hand down his jean's leg. Seemed he'd been that way with everyone lately.

The bit with Airwolf though and this mission just kept eating at his guts though. The stunt for the aerial shoot had been a struggle the other day - he couldn't afford a day like that fling combat in the Lady - it was liable to get them all killed, but he couldn't give her over either. Saint John obviously wasn't any more up for it than he was, as was evidenced by the results of his last mission. Mike couldn't do it alone, and Roper was out on maneuvers again.

No, he'd just have to suck it up and make it work. Michael was depending on him, as was his agent in Suriana. He just hoped whatever it was Archangel needed picked up, was worth the risk they were all taking.

Plunging the needle home, Shahir Muhammad administered the test drug deep in the veins of the lab subject. So far, the new class of Benziodiapine seemed to be showing promising results. Sanchez had said there'd been problems with it at this dosage, but he'd yet to see them.

The thought of Sanchez furrowed his brow, yet another disquieting thought amongst the multitude. The woman had been nothing if not dedicated, and brilliant to boot. He still couldn't stomach the thought she was dead by a sniper's bullet.

Looking over her notes once more against his, Shahir ran his gloved finger down the page, noting the spikes in the subjects behavior. Squinting through his glasses, he peered at the subject. Was that fine tremors, he was beginning to notice?"

Scowling he flipped through his notes, notating the half-life of the drug and side effects. An unearthly shriek snatched his attention back to the cage, where the chimpanzee now slammed itself violently against the bars. Scrawling furiously, he notated behavior - the apparent confusion of the animal, the trembling, the obviously increased respiration even as it grew more agitated, until it finally collapsed in a brown, furry lump in the bottom of the cage, breath rasping in and out of its open mouth, teeth bared.

Muhammad reached a trembling hand up to pull his glasses from his nose. The animal's agonized death was horrific to watch, even for a man as inured to the cost of research as he was.

It would appear Sanchez had been right. The effects of the Benzodiapine drug were remarkable, as a psychoactive drug it did amazing things: calming the patient, making them more receptive to influencing, but the easy, ready-made dependency that went hand in hand with it made a volatile time bomb. Hook the patient, requiring ever-increasing doses, go overboard the slightest bit and death could happen in a matter of minutes.

He slapped the binder on the counter in disgust. Truly a double-edged sword, if he ever saw one. Given most any patient, it was just a matter of time 'til the cure turned deadly.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said a silent prayer for Sanchez's insight. She might be gone, but her work remained. The woman had been right when she'd said a country couldn't have the "cure" without the antidote, the risk was too great.

The question remained though, could he convince Salvador Guteriez, a man more known for his attention to the bottom line than the lives he affected getting there. He could only hope so.

Picking up a clean beaker out of the cabinet, Muhammad began duplicating the Flumazenil Sanchez had created, using her notes. Somehow, he had a nasty feeling they might need it before all was said and done.

* * *

Darkness fell over the softly lapping waters of the lake, an eagle's screech fading on the wind. Wearily, Caitlin Hawke glanced out the dining room window for a sign of her husband. Upstairs, the children argued and squabbled, thudding across the floor.

Sighing, she dried the last of the supper dishes, placing them on the counter. Still no sign of Hawke. He'd been gone before the morning light and had never answered her calls to the hanger today.

The bitter anger of her words at him over the aerial stunt the night before ate at her heart. She hadn't really expected to hear from him this morning, had known he might be out of the hanger later, but now that darkness had fallen, she was running out of excuses.

What if something had gone wrong with the stunt? Who would call her, know to call Michael? Surely, he should be back by now, would've forgiven her fit of pique…

Mindlessly, she crumpled the dish towel in her hands as her head bowed and the tears fell.

* * *

Shoulder length, straight black hair falling over her high cheekbones, emerald eyes peered nearsightedly at the man in front of her through dark-framed glasses. "So pleased to meet you, Dr. Muhammad."

Dark brown eyes eyed her appraisingly. "I'm pleased to meet you too, Ms. …Santiago, is it?"

The slender woman nodded, holding out her hand. "Raquel Santiago."

The doctor shook it. "I look forward to working with you, Ms. Santiago."

Flashing him a dimpled grin that lit up her whole face, she smiled. "Not nearly as much as I do, Dr. Muhammad."

"That should do it," Saint John commented, tightening the bolt String had battled with earlier. "We're as ready to go as it's going to get."

Mike wiped his hands on a grease rag. "Forgetting a pilot aren't you?" he asked sardonically.

"I don't know, am I?" Saint John tossed back. "Look, I don't know where String is, and I sure don't feel like babysitting him."

"You ever think, I don't feel like babysitting you?" String retorted, striding into the cave.

Mike rolled his eyes as the older Hawke glared at his sibling. "Quite frankly guys, I'm getting tired of babysitting both of you. How 'bout we just load up and go - we've got a mission to accomplish, a girl to save, and all that rubbish, remember?"

Saint John ignored him, crossing his arms as he glared at his brother.

Fighting down his own rising irritation, String huffed a sigh before he met Mike's worried gaze. "Let's go," he said quietly, striding for Airwolf.

Hazel eyes narrowed, Saint John watched him go, before grabbing his own flight suit and following. Still scowling, he swung up into the co-pilot's seat without speaking.

Absently, Jade chewed on a pencil, while she looked at Theresa Sanchez's notes and compared them to Dr. Muhammad's. It was evident the Benziodiapine had shown some amazing promise, but…it also had some stunning drawbacks from what she could see.

Used to treat anxiety and having amnesia tic properties properly tweaked it'd be an effective weapon, but the amazingly addictive properties coupled with the razor thin edge between effectiveness and lethality was a problem. No wonder Archangel had been concerned.

"Raquel?" Shahir Muhammad called. "Raquel, you here?"

Hurriedly, Jade slid Sanchez's notes back into the binder. Neatly she stacked Muhammad's notes next to the computer, where she was entering the information.

"In here, Dr. Muhammad," she called, her heart pounding.

Heavy footsteps paced the length of the hall before entering the small lab. Shahir Muhammad frowned as he entered the room, sharp gaze taking in the stack of notes beside Jade's slender figure. The scowl softened as he caught sight of the meticulous transcription. "Been busy, I see," he commented in his heavily accented English.

Raquel looked up as if startled. She glanced at the monitor. "Um, yeah. You left me just a bit."

The dark-haired man nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, I did. Well, then I'd better leave you to it."

She nodded shyly. "Yes, sir." She turned back to the monitor.

Giving her one last appraising look, Shahir turned towards his small office. He was out the door and halfway down the hallway before he realized he hadn't mentioned Salvador Guteriez's visit.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Jade rested her head momentarily in her hands. That'd been closer than she liked - flirting with disaster. Even now adrenaline rushed through her system, making her hands shaky.

Taking a deep breath, she started again. Shahir Muhammad's voice sounded almost in her ear. Terrified, she startled, jumping at the sound.

"Salvador Guteriez - the head of our project is coming to check our progress. We are not to be disturbed, do you understand?"

"Ye…yes, sir," she stuttered. "I understand, sir."

"Good," Muhammad answered. Placing a beefy hand on her shoulder, he patted it as he left the room. "Remember what I said." Walking down the hall, he shook his head, not knowing quite what it was about her that made him uneasy, only that it did.

Trying to calm her traitorous heart, Jade slid Dr. Sanchez's notes onto the scanner, eyeing the door.

Wearily, Cait trudged up the stairs to the bed she shared with String. Nicky and Amelia had long since fallen asleep, and the only sound in the house was the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Too late to call Michael, she worried - unless of course, she knew something was wrong, which of course she didn't. Mindlessly, she plucked her nightshirt off the bed, only to watch a folded piece of paper flutter to her bare feet as she did so. Absently, she tossed the shirt back on the bed, as she reached for the note.

Flipping the paper open, she read String's bold, indecipherable scrawl. "Cait, first of all - I'm sorry. You were right. I had no business doing the stunt. Stupid pride I suppose. Still , it made me realize I had no business taking you on this mission with me. Mike and Sinj might not have much choice, but I do have a choice where you're concerned, and I'm taking it.

I know you'll be angry and I'm sorry, but I won't risk you, Cait. Tell the kids I love them, either way. And while I'm sure I don't tell you nearly enough, that doesn't mean it isn't true. I love you, Hawke"

Staring at the words as they blurred before her eyes, Cait cursed. "Stupid lunkhead," she growled in frustration at his stubbornness even as she dropped to the bed, her head in her hands.

* * *

Shifting hard, Seb Hawke swung the black mustang convertible into the parking lot of red Star. Braking, he shoved it into park, reaching for the laptop on the leather seat beside him. Computer in hand, he swung smoothly out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he quickly loped for the entrance steps.

Long, lean stride eating up the ground, he swiped his security card through the card reader and hit the door never missing a beat. Tossing an offhand greeting in to the guard at the security desk, he grabbed the nearest elevator even as the doors were closing. Strong, slender fingers impatiently punched in the numbers for Michael's floor.

Whilst the elevator made the climb, he wondered what Michael's "urgent business" was that he'd hunted him down at the beach for. The sight of Alexandra, one of Michael's agents standing there at the edge of the surf in a short, white skirt, long red hair blowing in the wind and white heels dangling from her fingertips wasn't one he was likely to forget…course, neither would his two collage age surfing buddies. That one might take a little explaining later, he thought with a grin. At any rate, it sure wasn't hurting his reputation any.

The heavy steel doors dinged open, parting to the main office of the deputy director. To his surprise though, no one was in sight. Interrupted paperwork lay scattered on Lauren's desk and the floor, while the phone rang with no indication of anyone making any effort to answer it.

Frowning, he glanced around, one hand holding the elevator doors open. A prickle of unease worked its way up his spine, obviously something was awry. Shifting the laptop to his left hand, he reached inside his jacket for the reassuring feel of the 9mm Beretta he'd gone to carrying in recent months.

Fingers closing around the gun butt, he silently walked across the carpeted floor pausing to listen before pushing aside the ajar office door with the back of his left hand. "Michael?" he questioned, even as he took in Marella's distressed look.

The spy abruptly looked up, spotting him in the doorway. Impatiently, he motioned him in seemingly oblivious to Seb's defensive posture.

Sliding the Beretta back into place in the folds of his jacket, the youngest blonde Hawke brother faced Archangel. "So, what's up Michael?" he asked, setting the laptop down in the chair beside him.

Handing a stack of papers to his assistant, Lauren, Michael dismissed her, and muttered, "Keep me informed," before he turned back to Seb.

Leaning against the bookcase, Marella waited.

"I'll cut to the chase," Michael said, consternation on his handsome face. "Hawke has radioed in. He and Saint John are on a mission on their way to Suriana. Airwolf has developed a computer and navigation problem that has taken her computers off-line. Currently, Hawke's flying without instruments, doable, but certainly not the optimum and likely to be a big problem when they get to Suriana's airspace for the extraction. I need you to either fix the computer problems remotely or you're going to have to figure some way of getting the information up here and transmitting it to them.'

"How long 'til they get to Suriana?" Seb asked, shoving down a choking feeling in his throat at the enormity of the task Michael had just set before him.

"Three hours," Marella murmured.


	6. Chapter 6

Arms aching with the strain of manhandling the Lady for the last five hours, String adjusted course at Mike's direction. Flight maps sprawled in front of him across the engineer's console, the younger pilot marked their progress and did a flight map drawing, trying to negotiate their way to a country he'd never even seen.

"Had enough?" Saint John asked, hazel eyes worrying over String's palpable exhaustion.

Arching an eyebrow, Hawke gave him a weary grin. "Had enough two hours ago."

"Set her down," Saint John told him.

String shot him a look. "Don't think so," he retorted, thinking of the wound his brother had already taken on this mission.

"Then let Mike fly her," Saint John cajoled.

"Last I checked," String tossed back, "he was trying to map us out a way there."

Saint John snorted inelegantly. "Last I checked, so could you."

Hawke huffed an irritable sigh. Easing back on the throttle, he called back to Mike. "Hey Rivers, you want to take over here for a while?"

Light blue eyes glanced up from the flight maps to the front of the cockpit where Hawke was. "Sure," he agreed readily. "You know me, always like to get my hands on the ladies," he joked.

Hawke gave him a baleful look.

"Oh, honestly, it's a joke Hawke," the irrepressible pilot commented as String continued to glare, blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "You do know what that is, right?"

Making no comment, Hawke eased back on the throttle even as he searched for a large enough clearing amongst the trees. Much as he hated to acknowledge it, if he didn't get a break soon, he knew he'd be of no use on the mission once they got there, and the way things were shaping up, they'd need all the help they could get.

Spotting the sought after clearing, he hovered overhead wishing he had some sort of scans. The ground cover here was so thick you could hide a veritable platoon out here and no one be the wiser, he thought. Peering out the windscreen, he asked Saint John, "See anything?"

Looking intently, Saint John shook his head. "No," he answered soberly, as he clicked the safety off the gun he held. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Mike?"

Rivers punched a few more buttons, the screen flickering briefly in front of him before defaulting to an error code. "Nothing," he grumbled. "Still down."

Resigned, String shrugged. "Well, watch yourselves, guys. It's not Suriana, but the rebels outside Somtillo will be just as glad to kill you as the ones in Suriana."

Dropping the landing gear, he flared Airwolf's sleek, black shark like nose as she settled to earth. Wasting no time, he switched places with Rivers, Mike clambering past the console to the pilot's chair.

"Need to get a move on, Mike," Saint John ordered, spotting movement at the tree line.

"Working on it," Rivers grumbled as he struggled awkwardly into the pilot's seat.

Hawke flopped heavily into the engineer's position, efficiently pushing buttons and trying to bring the Lady's armament online.

"Now, Rivers!" Saint John yelled. "Now!" Even as he watched, he could see a dirty, camouflaged soldier loading a ground to air projectile. "Get it in gear!"

Mike finally got the helmet on awkwardly, and reached for the controls.

Saint John eyeing the progress on the hillside, sucked in a harsh breath and abruptly pulled up on the collective while pushing hard forward on the stick. Lurching into the air, Airwolf lunged steeply upward climbing.

Grabbing the console to keep from landing in the floor, Hawke snapped the harness into place. "What the heck are you two doing up there?" he growled.

"Get the guns online, String," Saint John snapped back impatiently.

Biting back an epithet, Hawke fought the computer - nothing.

"Need the guns," Saint John reminded him, his voice tight.

"I'm working on it," String snapped back.

"Well, work faster!"

"You think you can do better, you come do it yourself," Hawke snarled.

Mike abruptly demoted to co-pilot status by Saint John, eyed the guerillas on the ground with the rocket launcher. "Well, you two better both do something, 'cause we're about to be a charred grease spot if they get that thing off."

Fumbling with the last screw in the panel, String snatched the electronics panel off. Pawing through the tangle of wires, he located the ones for the ADF pod and short circuited them together. "Try it now, Mike," he bit out, feeling the jolt of adrenaline in his veins as the other pilot's words sunk in.

Twice he touched the wires together, and twice the ADF pod almost lowered.

"Again," Mike ordered. "They're about to get that thing airborne."

Touching the two wires together, Hawke held them, flinching even as he got a jolt as well. The pod deployed with a solid "Ka-chunk."

"They've got one off," Mike warned. Saint John swung first hard left, then right, zig zagging and rolling to avoid the first shoulder-launched rocket grenade.

"Missile detonated," Mike informed almost breathing again, 'til he saw the next one being loaded. "Hawke, do something," he warned.

Two pairs of eyes glared at him, color different, but expression identical. "Shut up, Mike!" they both snapped.

Throwing his hands up, Rivers backed off.

Shoving the throttle forward, Saint John pushed the engines to their maximum without turbo.

"Rocket off," Mike intoned.

"You've got Hellfire," String bit out. "You're on your own so far as aiming though. Can't lock it in, so don't miss. You'll get only one chance."

Mike started the countdown to impact. "Detonation in 10,9,8...7..."

Saint John rolled the helicopter hard right swinging her on her axis, her tail boom slinging out and fishtailing. Squinting he eyed the oncoming rocket, thumb hitting the firing trigger on the cyclic. Even as the missile fired, he swung the helicopter upward, dropping the helmet visor down.

A fiery explosion rocked the air beneath them, after effects shuddering through the helicopter. Flames licking the sleek, pearlized underbelly of the craft. Ignoring it, Saint John kept climbing, throttles pushed to the max without turbos.

"Any chance of some real speed here?" he questioned, hoping he wouldn't have to do that again.

String huffed in frustration, tension knotting his shoulders. Flying the Lady was one thing, wiring her another and he was definitely out of his element here. An electrician he was not.

He fiddled with some more wires, getting zapped in the process. Yelping, he snatched his hand away.

"String?" Saint John questioned, "some help here?"

"I'm trying," he snarled in frustration.

"Let it go, guys," Mike broke in. "Evidently that display was enough to convince them they weren't interested. They're going home. Now, let's just get the heck out of here and on to Suriana, before something else happens."

* * *

Surreptitiously, Jade slipped into the darkened room, having already silently slipped past the guards outside. Dark hair clipped back in a long ponytail down her back, she merged with the encroaching shadows in her dark slacks and black shirt. And it'd better stay that way, she thought wryly as she padded quietly down the hall towards the anteroom to the lab's clean room.

There she efficiently slid on gloves and a bunny suit. The protective clothing jangled her already frazzled nerves, which were screaming get the stuff and get out. Still, it was to her advantage - she certainly couldn't risk contaminating her sample, and she didn't need them pinning the theft to her, due to a stray hair or skin cell.

Pushing the door aside, she paced quickly to the commercial, stainless refrigerator where the drug samples were stored. Opening it, a row of beakers greeted her, labeled simply test group A. Thankfully, she thought of Theresa Sanchez's meticulous notes identifying the test groups. This was the original drug, she realized, taking a glass-lined metal vial from her pocket. Deftly dumping a sample in, she screwed the lid back on, boldly labeling it with a permanent marker from her pocket.

Next to the first rack of beakers another sat. Identifying them immediately, she knew them to be the altered Benziodiapine drug that Salvador Guteriez had had Sanchez and Muhammad experimenting with. Vastly more powerful than the first it boasted far greater hypnotic properties and amnesia tic side effects - a great way to program an agent and have them never even know it. It also boasted a shorter half-life with resultant withdrawal symptoms and next dose craving. Feasibly a drug great for programming behavior, and easy physiological control of the subject and an amazing ability to easily overdose the patient when they were no longer needed or wanted. This was the drug Archangel had worried about.

Quickly, it too went into a vial, and was labeled. Booted steps sounded outside the window and she froze waiting for them to leave. Instead they slowed.

A smattering of Spanish, drifted on the wind outside the window, before moving on. Dragging in a nervous breath, Jade turned to go, just as her eye caught on a third rack of beakers pushed all the way to the back.

"Oh, ho-ho," she murmured. "What's this?" Kneeling, she reached into the back, carefully dragging it forward. Simply labeled "D- Flumazenil", she'd almost missed it. Racking her brain for a point of reference among all the drug names she'd read through earlier, the name teased her, floating nebulously just out of reach.

A vial of it too, joined the others in her pocket, even as Jade hurriedly returned everything to its original location and footsteps echoed down the hallway. Slamming the door shut, she scrabbled for a darkened corner cabinet, wedging herself in under a lab table, heart pounding.

The guard paused at the window in the door, shining a light in and across the surfaces. Groaning, Jade realized she'd left her flashlight on the table by the refrigerator. Out of reach, and in plain sight and not a thing she could do about it.

The light beam from the window bounced over the surfaces, a lab table, the refrigerator, the table in front of it. For a moment, she imagined it paused, but then it went on and she nearly collapsed in relief pressing her forehead against the cool tile floor as the room plunged back into darkness. It seemed fate had been on her side this time. She just hoped she didn't turn fickle before she got out.


	7. Chapter 7

Ensconced in his office at Red Star, Seb worked to establish remote access to Airwolf's computer systems via the communications link. Communications even via the radio were sporadic at best, and though he'd spoken with String, it'd been a frustrating experience for all concerned as they'd tried working through the hardware and software issues only to lose radio contact repeatedly. Scowling in frustration, Seb shoved wire-framed glasses up his nose and ran exasperated fingers through his already rumpled blonde hair, standing it completely on end.

Forty-five minutes. That was all the time he had left to make this work - assuming of course, he was even lucky enough to raise his brother on the radio again, a prospect that was looking more remote by the minute.

Finally, the radio link connected. "String? String, do you read?"

"I'm here, Seb," Hawke murmured, the connection staticy. "Make it fast, we're about to be out of range."

"Pick up is in Cordoza. Your contact will be a Raquel Santiago, works for Salvador Guteriez. She's one of ours - black hair, green eyes, slender build. Works at a concrete block building at the edge of town. Mike can give you the landing area. Pick up Santiago as well. Guteriez made her predecessor after the last attempt, and she ended up dead in a rather ugly fashion. Archangel doesn't want the same to happen to Santiago."

"Gotcha," String agreed. "Anything else?"

"Don't get caught. Guteriez would love nothing more than to get his hands on a new guinea pig to test out his drug on and you and Airwolf would give him the perfect opportunity to try it on a large scale. From the sounds of it, it's pretty deadly stuff - highly effective, highly addictive and potentially highly lethal."

"Yeah, figures," String said grimly.

* * *

Stepping out of the deepening twilight, Stringfellow Hawke made his way down to the little cantina at the edge of town. His stomach was rumbling from the long wait, and he was pretty sure the slender woman with the long black hair he'd been tailing from the edge of town was Raquel Santiago. Would've been nice to have had a picture of her to compare to, he thought ruefully, but the mannerisms and facial features were wrong for a local. There was just something patently American about the woman somehow.

Seemingly oblivious to her tail, Santiago briskly strode into the adobe cantina, Hawke hurrying to keep her in sight. She disappeared into the building even as he lengthened his stride so as not to lose her. Loping, he cut around the corner of the building, and drew up short, a black, snub-nosed .9mm pointed directly at his chest.

He froze in mid-step, raising his hands.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she demanded, green eyes glittering dangerously.

Hawke swallowed, straightening and drawing himself up to his full height. The icy blue eyes narrowed as he faced her.

"Spill," she spat. "I don't know you, and I have no compunction about shooting you, so you'd better start talking.

Fingers locked behind his head, Hawke prayed Archangel's intelligence had been good and his own gut was on track, because he was going to need it. "Stringfellow Hawke, I work for the Firm. Archangel sent me." The blue eyes tracked her reaction intently.

Jade green eyes, narrowed thoughtfully as she watched him. "Who're you supposed to meet?"

Hawke frowned. Simple question, not so simple answer. If he was wrong about who she was, not only would his own life likely be forfeit, but Raquel Santiago's as well. He cast about for an answer that didn't risk getting everybody killed. Unfortunately, none came.

"Now!" she ordered, the click of the safety loud in his ears. He had no doubt, she'd be happy to shoot him.

"Raquel Santiago," he sighed, hoping his gut hadn't failed him this time.

Slowly, Jade lowered the gun, still watching him suspiciously, hoping he was who he said he was. Oh, the joys of undercover work, she thought sardonically. Where never knowing who your friends were and putting your life in complete strangers hands was the norm.

Jerking her head to the side, she motioned for him to come with her. "Not here," she muttered. "Guteriez has eyes everywhere."

"Then where?" Hawke demanded tersely, all too aware of the time slipping away and that Saint John and Rivers would come looking for him before much longer.

"Edge of town, one hour. Near the creek bed."

He nodded. "I'll be there." Silently, he turned to go.

Sliding the gun into the folds of her skirt, she watched him go before adding, her voice low, "Don't disappoint me, Mr. Hawke. I'd hate to have to kill you now that we've met," and with that, she disappeared into the shadows of the noisy cantina.

Trudging wearily back the way he'd come, String headed silently towards Airwolf. He only hoped the rest of the mission went more smoothly than it had so far. It was days like this that reminded him why he was no longer an operative for the Firm and Michael.

Quietly, he made his way back along the rock strewn path to update Rivers and Saint John on the new plan.

Stealthy footsteps shadowed him, and despite his keen hearing, never once did Hawke realize they were there the entire way back.


	8. Chapter 8

With single-minded efficiency, Jade packed the carefully labeled vials and the computer discs of notes she'd copied into the pockets of her lab coat. Everything seemed to be there… except the last disc. "Crap!" she muttered in frustration, going through her skirt again that she'd worn yesterday. It was nowhere to be found. Frantically, her thoughts raced as she tried to think where it could be.

"Looking for this?" a heavily accented voice behind her ground out.

Spinning away from her desk, Jade faced the dark-haired man who glared at her with cold, dead, dark eyes. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?" she demanded, striving for an air of detached authority.

The man merely grinned, his even white teeth feral in the swarthy face. "The question is," he retorted, "who my dear, are you?"

Uneasily, Jade raised herself to her full 5'7" height. "I think you'd better leave before I call security," she warned.

Salvador Guteriez laughed. "I don't think you get it, Ms. Santiago - if of course, that is your real name. I am security. I am the man who signs your paycheck, and…"here he drew a nasty looking gun complete with silencer on it, "I am also the man who is going to kill you if you don't hand over what you've stolen from me."

Paling, Jade wondered if she could reach her own gun and fire, before he shot her where she stood. Not likely. She was good, but not that good. Fear clutching at her, she wondered if this was how Teresa had felt when she died.

"I'm waiting, Ms. Santiago," Guteriez warned, leveling the gun at her chest.

Jade reached across the desk with trembling hands.

A noise in the doorway had them both spinning around. Shahir Muhammad stood there, brown eyes wide in a round face. Jade grabbed her gun and fired, winging Guteriez even as she doe for the floor and cover.

Guteriez let loose with his own shot, dropping Muhammad where he stood. The older man hit the floor with a heavy thud as Jade rolled to her feet, lunging for the disc Guteriez still held.

Desperately she grabbed it, slamming a sharp knee to his chin, as he scrambled for the dropped gun. Heart pounding and conscience screaming over Muhammad's pained groans she kept running, ducking a wild shot as she scrambled out the door.

Feet pounding, she raced down the hall intent on one thing and one thing only, getting the vials and the discs to Hawke. No matter what, she couldn't die here because there'd be no resurrecting this mission after this.

Shoving through the heavier door, she staggered out into the shadowed night, skittering on the loose gravel as she headed for the overgrown underbrush and the path through it into the woods. Behind her she could hear Guteriez, now yelling.

Casting a glance behind her, she ducked into the undergrowth, the half-hidden path instantly muffling her footfalls. Not daring to run in the near darkness, she felt her way quickly along the path, her ears straining for the sound of running water.

At last she heard it, bursting into the opening between the trees to spot Stringfellow Hawke waiting, seated on a moss-covered boulder.

Hearing her, he rose to his feet .45 in hand and two other shadows slipped back into the forest beside him. Jade in her mad rush and panic never noticed them.

Recognizing her, Hawke relaxed only fractionally. "What's wrong?" he demanded, dark blue eyes scanning the forest behind her as he noticed her rapid breathing.

"Guteriez made me," she panted, her breath coming in gasps.

Saint John and Mike melted out of the shadowy woods to join them.

Anxiously, Jade looked at Hawke, reaching for her own gun.

He shook his head. "It's okay. They're with me."

She subsided, the tension obviously seeping from her body. "Good, then you've got somebody to cover your back." She reached inside her lab coat pockets, Mike's gaze sharp on her as she did so. "Here," she said, offering the stuff to Hawke.

He shook his head. "Keep it. You can explain to Marella when you get back. Playing mad scientist really isn't my cup of tea."

Jade stared at him startled. "I'm not going back."

Having already turned to lead the way back to Airwolf, Hawke rounded on her. "What do you mean, not coming back?" he snarled. "The man tried to kill you. Surely you can't think there's a lot of room for career advancement here!"

Planting her feet, Jade glared back. "You're on your own. The disks have the info Marella will need. Muhammad is still there and I owe him my life. There's no way I'm leaving him to Guteriez's hands!"

Hawke scowled.

Saint John looked at him, his eyes questioning whether to just take the female agent by force.

Hawke shook his head almost imperceptively, reading his brother's thoughts.

"Look Santiago," he growled, "you can't go back in there alone, even if he is still alive. Which is a big if…"

"I can't leave him either," she bit out, her low voice hard. "I'm going back."

Shrugging his shoulders, Hawke sighed. "No, I suppose not. Saint John, Mike go ahead back to the Lady with the stuff and monitor the radio…I'll call as soon as I can. I'll go back with Santiago."

Frowning Mike started to protest. Glowering, String cut him off. "We can't all leave the Lady and you're the best pilot I can leave, between you and Saint John you can get her home if need be. If Muhammad is wounded, then Sinj" here he shot his brother an apologetic look, "has no business hauling him out while recovering from his own gun wound. Santiago and I will manage."

Not looking too happy, Mike nodded pulling the even less happy looking Saint John Hawke with him, vials and discs in hand.

Casting a regretful glance after them, String loped after Santiago up the path towards the lab and the unknown.

* * *

Darkness had completely fallen by the time they made it to the head of the path, near the overgrown brush that surrounded Guteriez's building. Crouching in the heavy brush, String and Jade waited eyeing the situation.

"No sign of anyone," Jade whispered. Maybe we got lucky and I got Guteriez better than I thought."

"Maybe," Hawke muttered. "Maybe not."

"Not exactly a fount of positive energy, are you?" Jade tossed back irritated. "I'm going in, that's all there is," and with that, she took off in a crouching run back towards the building.

Groaning, String followed, doubting his own sanity as he did so. Bad enough she was fool enough to go in unprepared, but what did that make him when he went in after her knowing how unprepared they were? "Just stupid, I guess," he muttered, bringing up the rear.

Her taking high, and him taking low they came through the door. Slamming against the concrete block, the sound reverberated through the empty hall. Their eyes met momentarily and she indicated she'd lead, and he shook his head no.

Ignoring him, she set out. Cursing in frustration now, Hawke followed, his own booted footsteps heavy in the hall. Quickly, she glanced into each room she passed, hurrying for the lab on the far end.

Following, Hawke covered their backs.

Reaching the room, she ducked in. Still sprawled on the floor, lay Shahir Muhammad, a growing puddle of blood around him. Sheathing her weapon, Jade checked his throat with efficient fingers for a pulse. Grinning, she found it. "He's alive!" she exclaimed in relief.

Frowning at the pool of blood on the floor, Hawke retorted, "Not for long if we don't get that bleeding stopped." He shoved his own weapon into his waistband and joined her on the floor, checking over the other man's injuries.

"There's a first-aid kit in the supply cabinet," Jade volunteered.

"Get it," Hawke bit out, not liking the amount of blood Shahir was leaking all over the floor. Putting his hand against the wound, he applied pressure. Weakly, the man stirred.

"Sh-hh," he muttered, trying to calm him. "You're among friends now Dr. Muhammad. In the background, he could hear shuffling as Santiago dug for the kit.

"Got it!" she called out, hurrying into the room. Even as she crossed the threshold, Guteriez stepped in the hallway door.

His attention on Santiago and the injured man, Hawke never heard him - seeing instead the widening of the girl's eyes as she froze in the doorway, kit in hand.

Instinctively, he snatched his hand from the wounded man's shoulder, reaching for his own weapon even as the report from Guteriez's gun tore through the room. Pulling the weapon, Hawke fired, never hesitating. The first bullet clipped Guteriez. The second dropped him to the floor.

Gaining his feet, Hawke scrambled to grab Guteriez's gun and make sure he was no longer a threat. Shoving the gun into his belt, he checked the man for a pulse, finding none.

Grabbing the handheld radio out of his pocket, he radioed Mike as he hurried across the room to where Santiago lay, first aid kit strewn across the floor.

"Airwolf, Airwolf this is Hawke. Do you read, copy?"

"Airwolf here," Mike's clipped tones returned. "What's up Hawke?"

"Bring the Lady," Hawke bit out. "I need some help, Mike. Bring some muscle while you're at it."

"Will do," Saint John's voice cut across the airwaves, "we're on our way."

Snapping the radio off, Hawke pocketed it, quickly checking Santiago. "Hey," he said gently slapping her on the cheek. "No sleeping on the job."

Blinking she stirred, opening dazed green eyes. "Wha.., what happened?" she slurred.

"Guteriez shot you," Hawke replied succinctly.

Immediately she started to scramble to a sitting position.

"Easy," he said. "He's dead."

She nodded.

Grabbing a wad of gauze, Hawke pressed it into her hand. "Sorry, but Muhammad needs me worse than you do. You'll have to hold this."

Biting her lip, Jade nodded, leaning against the wall.

Satisfied she was okay, for now at least, Hawke grabbed the first aid kit and returned to Dr. Muhammad. The man was conscious now, his face lined with pain.

Pressing his hand once more against the man's chest, Hawke rifled one-handed through the kit for supplies.

The high-pitched howl of Airwolf echoed vaguely overhead, subsiding to an eerie wind drone as Mike set her down. Booted footsteps pounded down the hall, String's hand hovering over his gun until he was certain it was Mike and not yet another attack from unseen quarters.

The blonde-haired, boyish pilot charged into the room gun ready 'til he spotted Hawke. Immediately, he sheathed it. "You okay?" he demanded, looking his friend over.

"Yeah," Hawke replied wryly. "But the others are a little worse for wear. How 'bout you give Ms. Santiago a hand, while I take care of Dr. Muhammad?"

"Sure," Mike agreed, moving to help the dark-haired agent.

Redirecting his full attention back to Shahir Muhammad, Hawke bound his wound and put on a compression bandage, with experienced hands. At least, he thought ruefully, there was that advantage to having spent the greater part of his life as a soldier in one form or another. He did know how to wrap a bandage.

"Done over here, Hawke," Mike's voice broke into his thoughts. "How 'bout you?"

"Yeah, we're good," the dark-haired pilot rejoined. He shot a glance over to Santiago as she slumped against the wall. "You gonna make it?"

Jade raised defiant green eyes to meet his, her ebony hair tumbling straight and sleek across her shoulders. "I'm fine," she said shoving off the wall and facing him down. "How's Dr. Muhammad?"

Hawke's lips quirked as he fought down a grin at her expense. The gal had moxy he had to admit, annoying as hell but plenty of guts.

Grabbing Mohammad's good arm and hauling him to his feet, supporting most of his weight, Hawke had more doubts about the other man though. Despite the bandage, and the shot of morphine he'd given him, he still looked wretched. It was going to be dicey getting him back to the states.

Ushering the others out, Hawke half-carried, half-drug Mohammad down the hall towards the waiting helicopter. Together they staggered out the door.

Shading her eyes against the downdraft, Jade shot a doubtful glance at Hawke. "This?" she yelled over the noise of the rotors. "You're going to take us home in this?"

Abruptly irritated, String glared at her, his eyes narrowing. "Well, it's how we got here. You got a better idea?"

Looking at his face, Jade knew she'd overstepped. "No," she said. "But will she make it with all of us?"

"We planned for four," Mike rejoined. "We'll just have to find a way to make do." Impatiently, he tried to usher her aboard.

Balking, Jade resisted, running figures in her head. "How many refuels?" she demanded, turning to Hawke.

"Two," he bit out. "Get in. I haven't got time for this."

Rough estimates in her head, Jade shook her head no. "I'm not going," she declared. "Even if we did make it, the extra weight will slow you down. Shahir needs help sooner rather than later. I'll find my own way."

Patience flying out the window, String growled, "Get in, now!" The command ended at almost a shout.

Drawing herself up to her full 5'7" height, Jade shoved away from Mike and drew her own gun. "I said, I'm not going Captain Hawke," she declared defiantly.

Mike groaned, rolling his eyes at the standoff. "Guys come on, we've got to go, one way or the other!"

Beside Hawke, Shahir staggered, nearly taking Hawke down with him as his knees gave way. Forced to support the man's whole weight or drop him, String hefted him upward. Mike rushed to give him a hand.

"I'll deal with you in a minute!" String promised Jade direly, as he and Mike fought to get Shahir Muhammad aboard. By the time he was safely aboard, both men were breathing heavily.

Looking up from the back of the helicopter, String turned dark blue eyes on his brother. "Where is she, Sinj?"

His brother glanced back at him startled. "I don't know. Was I supposed to be watching her?"

String groaned, biting off a curse.

Crowding him, Mike peered out of the cockpit before dropping down outside. "Nowhere around," he informed after a cursory examination. "You want to try again to get the computers back online to try and run scans for her?"

Beside him, Shahir Muhammad groaned faintly. Torn, String glanced at him and then out the darkened windscreen thinking of the vain effort earlier to get the electronics back online. "No," he sighed heavily. "She made her choice, we'll honor it and hope for the best. Saint John get us home."

"You got it," his brother replied, turning Airwolf on her own axis as String bowed his head and said a silent prayer for a dark-haired agent with more guts than sense. Sighing, he sat down to fight with the communications console.


	9. Chapter 9

Five hours and three refuels later. Airwolf settled to the roof of red Star. A medical team waiting on Dr. Shahir Muhammad, who despite Hawke's fears to the contrary had managed to hang on.

"Uh, oh," Mike intoned to Hawke who simply sat there with his helmet in his lap and his head leaned back.

From his seat at the engineer's console, Saint John looked up. "Psst, String," he hissed, "get it together. Here comes Archangel!"

"Huh?" String muttered barely intelligibly, opening bleary eyes to stare at the white clad figure making its way rapidly across the roof. "Ah, hell," he grumbled tiredly. "Now what?"

"Think he's figured out Santiago didn't come back with us?" Mike queried.

"Probably," Hawke said, rubbing a weary hand across his face. "Undoubtedly, Marella has computed the time we took to the second and realized we came back light. Blasted woman," he grumbled, but there was no strength behind the imprecation. Shoving his helmet at Rivers, he dropped out of the helicopter to face the Deputy Director.

"Hawke," Archangel greeted him.

"Michael," Hawke returned waiting.

"Made it back, I see," the spy commented tightly.

"Yeah," he replied noncommittally, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Where's Jade Sinclair?" Archangel bit out dropping all pretense of civility, his single blue eye glaring intensely at his friend.

"Who?" Hawke asked, drawing his brows together.

"Jade Sinclair," Michael Coldsmith Briggs III snarled. "You know, the agent you were supposed to bring back…"

Returning the spy's scowl glare for glare, Hawke fired back. "I'm assuming you mean Raquel Santiago? I have no idea what her real name is, Michael. You can take that up with her, assuming she ever makes it back. It wasn't for lack of trying."

"What do you mean. if she makes it back?" Michael fired back. Great, he thought, Marella is going to kill me for this.

"Exactly what I said. She flat out refused to get in the helicopter after Muhammad got shot. Something about it taking too long and weighing us down. Blast," he gestured emphatically, "it was like talking to Marella - all facts, figures and no sense."

Grudging admiration lit Michael's good eye as comprehension dawned. Jade in so many ways was like Marella. Knowing her, she'd probably worked out the time and fuel needed to get Muhammad back to the Firm clinic in her head and realized there was a good chance Airwolf would never make it back in time with her additional weight slowing her down. As it was, it'd been close.

"So where'd you leave her?" Michael asked, snatching his attention back to Hawke's frustrated countenance.

"**Where'd I leave her?**" String intoned, in disbelief. "What makes you think I left her? When we got Muhammad on Airwolf and turned around to haul her butt aboard, she was gone. It was her choice, not mine, Michael!"

Realizing Hawke himself was no happier about it than Archangel was, the spy subsided. "Never mind," he sighed. "Any idea how she intended to get out?"

String shook his head, the dark blue eyes troubled. "No, I don't Michael."

The spy nodded, tipping his hat as he leaned on his cane. "Then I guess I'd better get on it," he murmured. "Thanks, Hawke." Leaning heavily on the rosewood cane, he made his way back towards the inside of Red Star.

Watching him go, consternation in his gaze, Hawke wondered if he could've done anything differently, even as he knew Muhammad owed his life to Jade Sinclair, or whatever the heck her name was.

* * *

"So, where the heck is she?" Seb muttered tossing the cordless phone on the couch in disgust as he walked past it. He didn't think she was avoiding him, but she'd promised to call Tuesday when she got back and it was already Thursday with no word from her.

Pacing restlessly, he slammed out of the house towards the beach with the uneasy feeling he was missing something. He just didn't know what.

* * *

Thumbing a ride on a ramshackle farm truck, Jade slumped among the crates of produce on its way to market. The hot, humid wind blew, sticking her long, loose hair to her neck. Idly, she raked a strand out of her eyes and thought of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy she'd left at home and wished she was there. Oh well, only another thousand miles or so to go. Plenty of time to come up with an explanation for being a couple days late, she thought, going back to daydreaming of a certain perfect day at the beach.


	10. Chapter 10

The day of the barbeque dawned bright, sunny, and beautiful. To all intents a perfect day. Certainly, a perfect day for a family picnic and get together.

"Hey Hawke!" beautiful, red-headed Caitlin tossed over her shoulder, her blue-green eyes laughing. "How 'bout giving me a hand here?"

Tossing the softball to Nicky, String swung a squealing Amelia up on his shoulders as he trotted over to help his wife. "What 'cha need, babe?" he asked, bussing her on the cheek and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Shaking her head, with an amused half-grin Caitlin raised an eyebrow. "You do realize you're incorrigible, Stringfellow Hawke?"

"What's in…in…corry…gable?" auburn-haired Amelia demanded.

Hawke flashed a look at his wife, as if to say, yeah, like to see you explain that.

Flustered, Cait blushed. "It's what you're daddy is, sweetie."

Amelia's sunny countenance darkened in a heartbeat, her lips turning stubborn and the sapphire blue eyes, so like her dad's, stormy. "He is not," she retorted. "He's a Hawke, just like me!"

String's lips twitched as he fought to keep from laughing at Caitlin's non-plussed look. Glancing from her sniggering husband to mutinous daughter, she sighed. "You're right sweetie, he's a Hawke - just like you!"

Losing the battle for diplomacy, Hawke roared with laughter, swinging Amelia down as he reached for his wife. Snagging her waist, he drug her to him squealing. "You wouldn't have it any other way," he said planting an enthusiastic kiss on her lips, the blue eyes twinkling.

Glancing from her husband to her daughter who was still glaring, Cait laughed, sliding a reddish strand behind her ear as she looked up at him. "You're probably right, but there are times I might not mind trying."

Hawke chuckled, swatting her on the rear. "On with you, woman," he growled, grabbing the box of picnic supplies and hefting them into the Jet Ranger.

Turning, he glanced around for Nicky, who of course was no where to be found. "Any idea?" he asked Caitlin, shoving his thumbs in his front pockets.

"Nope," she shook her head. "House maybe?"

Hawke sighed. "I'll go look. How 'bout you going ahead and getting 'Melia in and start it up? With any luck, we'll be back by then.

The red-head nodded, opening the door and boosting Amelia up as Hawke loped down the dock for the cabin.

Reaching the porch, he swung the door open, pulling off his aviator shades as he did so. Out of nowhere, a sense of déjà vu hit him so hard he almost reeled. For a second, he could almost picture the paintings gone and Archangel seated at the bar just as he had been before Hawke had gone to Libya to retrieve Airwolf, the memories running together. The feeling pressed in so strong, so real he took a couple of stumbling steps across the floor to trace his fingers across the Stradivarius cello beside the fireplace, Gabrielle's words echoing in his ears, "Archangel wouldn't let them take it."

Later memories rushed in, threatening to overwhelm him, Gabrielle's promise in Libya at the Red Castle - living to be an old woman, and finally holding her in his arms as she'd died. Pain rushed in as sharp and as poignant as a decade ago.

"Dad?" Nicky called from the top of the stairs, looking at him strangely. "Dad, you alright?"

Drawing a trembling hand back from the cello, String glanced up at his son in surprise, blinking, trying to reconcile the two. "Yeah," he murmured quietly, almost to himself, before trying again. "Yeah, fine, Nick," he said firmly pushing the memory back. "You ready to go?"

Nicky watched him for a moment with sharp blue eyes, before he grinned. "Sure. You wanna bring your guitar?" he asked hopefully.

Glancing up at his son, Hawke forced a smile he didn't feel. "Sure, why not?" he asked, "maybe we'll find time."

Elated, Nicky woo-hooed before stomping down the stairs, guitar in hand. He was out the door, before Hawke even made it past the fireplace.

Hand on the doorknob, Hawke paused looking around the cabin one last time as if to assure himself all was well. Shrugging uncomfortably, he shook his head closing the door behind him.

* * *

Down by the lake, Roper and Saint John tossed a ball with the kids. Mike and his date sprawled companionably across a blanket watching them. Even Michael and Marella looked relaxed down by the water's edge.

"So, where's Seb?" Cait asked, leaning back comfortably against her husband's chest. "I thought he was coming."

"So did I," Hawke murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "So did I."

In the distance, the chop-chop of rotor blades split the air. Tilting her head back, Caitlin turned sharp blue-green eyes on Hawke. "Seb?" she asked.

Catching her eyes, Hawke nodded. "Probably. Hughes 500."

Satisfied, Cait settled back in his arms. Relaxing against the rough bark of the tree, String breathed in the sweet scent of her hair and closed his eyes.

"Hey, lovebirds," Rivers teased, jostling Hawke's shoulder. "Lunch is on, let's go."

"In a minute, Rivers," Hawke agreed complacently, not moving, his eyes still closed.

Loping by, Roper paused with a wolf whistle. "Hey, Seb brought a date, and man she's a looker."

Hawke quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head to look at his eldest son.

Cait elbowed him in the side. "Well?" she asked.

String's attention swiveled back to her. "Well, what?" he asked.

"Did you know about her?" Cait hissed, craning her neck to see around her step-son.

"No, Miss Nosypants," he teased back. "I didn't. He must've forgot to ask my permission , too."

"Hawke!" she said swatting him.

"What?" he cried, all feigned innocence. Pushing up, he drew her to her feet. "Come on and you can met her with the rest of them. Just don't have him married and down the aisle simply because he brought her to lunch, Cait."

"Very funny," the feisty red-head retorted.

"Hey, just calling it like I see it," her husband rejoined.

Together, they walked arm in arm over to join the rest of the group gathered around the food, and Seb and his date. The group parted just as they arrived, and Seb caught sight of String and Caitlin on their way up the path.

"Hey, String!" he called. "Come on over here, I've got somebody I want you to meet.

Pulling him forward, Cait tugged at his arm even as Seb whispered in his date's ear about meeting his brother.

Grinning, Hawke put his hand forward to shake hers even as the crowd of family and friends parted.

"String," Seb greeted him cheerfully. "I want you to meet my date, Jade Sinclair."

Hawke froze in mid-stride, his eyes widening as he looked at her and then over at Michael.

Wrapping his arm around the slender woman, careful of the sling that held her left arm, Seb drew her closer as he stepped forward. "Jade, my brother, Stringfellow Hawke."

Jade's expression mirrored Hawke's shell-shocked one for a moment before she recovered, reaching forward smoothly to shake his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Stringfellow," she murmured cheeks dimpling, even if the smile didn't quite make it to her eyes.

Hawke made no further move, despite Michael's encouraging nod and a head jerk in Jade's direction. Nearly colliding with her husband and his abrupt halt, Caitlin turned and looked at him strangely, even as she gave the other woman a welcoming hug.

Michael and Marella both shot him a worried look as Hawke's stunned look turned into a scowl and he dropped his hand. "Jade Sinclair," he muttered, like the name left a foul taste in his mouth.

Seb's earlier cheer turned to a look of puzzlement and then hurt as he cast a glance back and forth between the two of them.

Saint John and Rivers shuffled uncomfortably, ill at ease and sensing the rising tension. Even Michael was looking a little desperate as he glanced Marella's way as if expecting her to wave a magic wand and make it all better. She merely shrugged.

Roper thankfully had no such compunction. "Jade," he greeted enthusiastically giving her a welcoming hug. "Great to have you," he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and another one around Seb's dragging them off in the direction of the drink cooler. He turned to his uncle Seb, who beat him out by only a few years and razzed him. "So, how'd a dog like you get a fox like her to come with you?"

"Hey!" Seb exclaimed mock indignantly, "You better watch it brat, or I'll turn you over my knee!"

Roper chortled, blue eyes twinkling merrily as he topped the other by a couple inches. "That'll be the day!" he retorted. Turning as they went, he shot a look over his shoulder at his father that could've melted the polar ice caps, mouthing, "Stop being such a jerk," and then he was gone.

"Hawke?" Cait frowned, looking up at him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he bit out. "Look Cait, I need to talk to Michael. How 'bout I catch up with you later?" He slid his arm out of hers and started towards Michael with a determined stride. "Thanks," he said not looking back.

Cait was left staring at Hawke's brother Saint John and at Rivers in front of her. Frowning, she glared at them, as she took in their uneasy looks. "Alright guys, out with it. What's going on? And don't you dare try to weasel out on me!"

* * *

Scowling, String glowered at Michael. "What is she doing here?" he demanded hotly, "and what do you want out of Seb?"

"Got me Hawke," Michael replied. "I don't know anything more about it than you do."

"You're going to tell me you have nothing to do with her being here?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Michael responded coolly.

"Does he know what she is?" String snarled.

"I wouldn't know, Hawke," Michael replied. "My guess is no. It also begs to ask if she knows he works for me. I certainly didn't plan it, if that's what you're thinking."

Marella leveled an angry glare at both of them. "I've had about enough from both of you," she hissed. "Jade is not some pariah! Stop acting like she is, Hawke. Last I checked, you worked for the Firm too!"

Muscle working in his jaw as he struggled to contain his temper, String retorted, "I'm well aware of that fact. That's also why I'm so concerned. Seb sure as heck doesn't need more of that craziness in his life!"

"Wouldn't that be his decision, Hawke?" Marella asked frostily.

"Maybe, if he knows." Here Hawke turned and glanced over his shoulder at his younger brother laughing, his arm wrapped around Jade by the lake. He shoved his hands restlessly in his pockets, watching them for a moment before he turned back to his old friends. "I'm willing to bet though, he doesn't have a clue. Want to take me up on that bet, Michael?"

Sighing heavily, Michael eyed the pair. "No. He probably doesn't."

Spotting Marella's offended stance, Hawke raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Look," he said. "I'm not saying Jade isn't a great person, a good agent. I just don't want to see my brother hurt."

"It's his choice…"Marella began.

"Then let it be an informed one!" Hawke snarled, his temper unraveling. "I was there when Gabrielle died, when Caitlin almost died and when Dom died. I don't want that for him, Marella!"

Sympathy lit the female spy's chocolate-colored eyes, reading the pain in his face. "I know Hawke," she said, placing a soothing hand on his arm. "But you can't make that choice for him, only he can."

Meeting her eyes, String heaved a great sigh, before looking away. "I know," he muttered, his heart heavy. "But it doesn't mean I don't want it to be different for him."

"Tell you what, Hawke," Marella murmured. "I'll talk to Jade. I see no reason she can't tell him - even if it doesn't work out, his security clearance is at least as high as hers. There should be no harm in both of them knowing."

String nodded, partially placated, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. "Thanks," he murmured huskily giving Marella a hug.

The smile she shot him was dazzling. "No problem," she replied. "In the meantime, though, you think you could control that glare and act like everything's good and not alienate everybody? It was supposed to be a fun day, remember?"

"Yeah," Hawke replied soberly, looking over at his pretty wife standing alone, arms crossed by the lake. It seemed he had some bridges to mend already. Leaving them, he walked towards her, his coffee-brown hair ruffling in the wind.


	11. Chapter 11

Lounging on the plush, suede like material of Jade's cream-colored sofa, Seb knocked back the last of a glass of scotch on the rocks, while Jade put the leftovers away from the barbeque.

Eyeing the empty glass, he frowned. There was just something off about today, something he couldn't place his finger on, and it niggled at him like a sore tooth. Aside from the incredibly awkward introduction, String had been on his best behavior the rest of the afternoon, polite but distant. Typical String.

In and of itself, that wasn't strange. His brother was not a people person. But today had been far and beyond that, it was like…like he knew her, Seb thought frowning.

He set the glass down with a clink on the glass topped table, suddenly certain. That was it, he thought remembering Hawke's body language. He'd been surprised to see her, perhaps even stunned, but she hadn't been a stranger. No, somehow he knew her, and apparently he didn't like what he knew.

Propping his feet up, and slumping back on the couch, he tried for a casualness he didn't feel. Whatever String's faults, he was generally a good judge of character. Should he be concerned?

"So, how'd you like the picnic?" he called out to Jade , busy in the kitchen.

"Mm-m," she replied. "It was fun. I'm glad you took me," she called back.

"You and Roper certainly hit it off well."

"He's a great guy," she said warmly. "I like him, reminds me of a certain other Hawke I know."

"Hm-m, should I be jealous?" Seb teased.

"Roper?" she laughed, "he's a baby Seb!"

"He's only six years younger than me," he felt compelled to toss back.

"Six years is a lot, Seb. World of experience difference at that age."

Raising an eyebrow, he decided not to argue the point, though he'd hardly call Roper a baby after all he'd been through in his twenty-two years."

"So, where'd you and String meet?" he asked.

"Suriana," as soon as the word was out of her mouth, Jade gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth in horror. What had she done?

"Suriana?" he asked casually. "Don't think I've heard of that."

"Mmm," she replied non-commitally. "Little place, doubt you have. Actually, it's nearer Cordova." Shut up Jade, she thought frantically. You're telling him everything.

"So, what happened?" he asked curiously. "You two didn't seem to exactly hit it off at first."

Jade wiped nervous hands on the dishtowel, glad he was in there and not able to see her face. She was a lousy liar, all things considered. "Misunderstanding about some transportation, nothing big. Grabbing a pair of clean wine glasses, she sloshed some zinfindel in them hoping to head off more questions as she came around the corner.

Seb looked up, spotting her with the glasses and the bottle of wine precariously balanced against her and the silk sling that held her left arm. Surging to his feet, he grabbed the bottle and a glass. "Hey, you should've said something. I'd have come help. No need you hurting your shoulder again," he protested.

"You're here now," she grinned, sinking down luxuriously onto the couch with him.

"Well, I am at that," he replied in mock surprise, nuzzling her ear.

She squealed. "Seb!" Wine sloshed across the edge of the glass and over her arm.

"Oops, did I do that?" he sniggered.

"You know darn well, you did!" she exclaimed in feigned indignation, nailing him with a pillow.

His blue-gray eyes twinkled joyously as he looked at her face, flushed with laughter and sun. This, he thought with sudden clarity, was a woman he could fall in love with.

* * *

Listening to the wind whistling through the pines outside, and the lonesome howl of a lone wolf on the hunt, Caitlin stretch languorously, nestled in Hawke's arms and his breath warm against her neck. "You awake?" she whispered.

Cracking a sapphire blue eye open, String grunted in response.

"Hawke?" she whispered again.

"Huh?" he muttered, figuring he might as well give up on the concept of sleep.

She was silent for a long moment, and he'd about decided he was going to get to go back to sleep after all, when she spoke.

"Jade works for Michael, doesn't she."

It was more a statement than a question, and String rolled over with a groan, placing his arms behind his head.

"Yeah," he replied.

"You met her in Suriana, didn't you?"

"I did," he said, adding nothing further.

"So, why don't you like her?" she asked.

"I don't dislike her, Cait. Not really. I just hate the idea of Seb getting sucked into the whole spy thing."

"Little late for that, isn't it?" she asked dryly. "He already works for Michael, does computer work for Airwolf, and has spent the greater part of his life playing cat and mouse with the mob."

"Maybe," Hawke said, shifting to pin her with a dark blue gaze. "But he could still walk away at this point. He gets involved with Jade that'll never happen."

"Honey," she whispered. "I think he's already involved with Jade. He wouldn't have brought her today, if he wasn't."

"You think?" he asked, dark lashes fluttering across his cheekbones.

"Yeah, I think," Cait replied, brushing dark, coffee-colored fringe out of his eyes. "What's so bad about that, Hawke, if he's happy?"

"Nothing. Everything," he shrugged. "I just hate to see him get hurt," he said defensively.

"What makes you think she'll hurt him?" Caitlin asked, concern in her blue-green eyes.

"Oh, I don't think she'll do it deliberately," String backpedaled. "But she almost got herself killed down in Suriana. That 'sprained' shoulder of hers - it's a nasty gunshot wound. Little lower and it would've killed her. Heck Cait, if I hadn't been there Guteriez's next shot would've. How's he gonna feel when she doesn't come back?"

"It's a chance I take every time you leave on a mission for Michael," the red-head said soberly, her hand firm on his shoulder.

"I know Cait," Hawke said contritely. "One I'm not exactly thrilled about, and one of these days I may not come home. I'm well aware of that. I'm also aware, what I do has a nasty way of following me home and dragging all of you into it. That scares me to death. What if someday it comes home and I don't? Who'll watch out for you then?"

Running her fingers through his short brown hair, Caitlin searched for the right words to say. "I can't say it doesn't worry me," she whispered, teardrops glistening on her lashes. "But I wouldn't trade my time with you for anything, if it ended tomorrow. We're blessed, and we've got something some people never find. I think that's worth whatever risk's involved. Maybe Seb will think the same."

"Maybe," String whispered, dragging her close, but his thoughts were on Gabrielle dying in his arms, and Dom burning to death in the bomb blast and there being nothing he could do to stop either.

* * *

Kissing Jade goodbye, Seb carefully eased himself out from her arms on the sofa. Too much wine, and too much good company, he thought ruefully, tracing a finger across her soft cheek. Stirring, she turned away from him with a soft snore, her loose cowl-necked sweater sliding over one bare shoulder.

Unable to help himself, he slid the dark curtain of ebony hair away from her face and over the back of the sofa, reaching for the afghan as he did so.

Pulling the blanket up, he paused catching a glimpse of her shoulder. Sliding a furtive glance over her sleeping form, he slid the cowl neck further her arm.

Hazel blue eyes widened in surprise taking in the wound there. It would appear she'd told the truth when she'd said she'd re-injured her shoulder - she'd just neglected to mention it'd been with a gunshot. Lips tightening, Seb thought maybe it was time he had a talk with both Archangel and Hawke. Obviously, there was more to this than anyone had said.


	12. Chapter 12

Slinging the door open with a bang, Seb strode into Archangel's office.

"Hey, wait! You can't go in there!" Samantha cried running after him. Flustered, she grabbed his arm, even as he slammed an impatient hand on Michael's desk. "I want the truth, Michael, and I want it now!"

Shooting Samantha a sympathetic look, Michael waved her out. "It's okay, Samantha. Hold my calls and close the door behind you on your way out."

"Sir?" she queried, clearly unsettled by Seb's tantrum.

"It's fine," Archangel answered waving her on.

The slender brunette retreated, casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder at Sebastian Hawke as she did so.

"Never would guess you're a Hawke," Archangel commented sardonically as he propped his feet on the desk and leaned back in the white leather executive chair. Stroking his mustache, he looked at the younger Hawke brother with curiosity. "What can I do for you Seb? Have a seat."

Pacing restlessly, Seb leaned across the cherry wood desk. "I don't want a seat, Michael. I want the truth. Is Jade Sinclair working for you?" he demanded.

Raising an eyebrow, the older man stared back at him. That, he thought in wonder didn't take long. "What'd she tell you?" he asked.

"I'm not asking her!" Seb snarled. "I'm asking you, Michael. Just answer the question!"

Sensing in a minute, he was going to find out whether Seb's temper burned as hot as Hawke's, Michael smoothed his vest and tie before he met the younger man's baleful glare. "Yes, Seb. In answer to your question, Jade Sinclair does work for me. She's one of my field operatives. Why, what did she tell you?"

"Nothing," Seb said, sitting down like a deflated balloon. "What's between her and String?"

Templing his fingers, the Deputy Director looked at him thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know, Seb. That's between her and Hawke, I suppose. Ask them."

The younger man frowned. "So what was she doing for you that she got herself shot, Michael?"

"Sorry, Seb," the spy replied with regret. "That's need to know, and you…"

"…don't need to know," Seb finished, with disgust. "Is there anything else I need to know, Michael?"

"Talk to her, Seb. Anything else will have to come from her or Hawke."

* * *

Dawn was just edging over the tops of the hangers in the airfield when Saint John Hawke walked into the office, cup of coffee in hand. Phone ringing shrilly, he grabbed it off the desk wondering why he ever thought it was a good idea to come in early to get some paperwork done.

"Santini Air," he answered in clipped tones.

"Saint John?" a voice questioned. It sounded remarkably like Marella. "Is Stringfellow there?"

"No," the older pilot answered, grasping almost immediately this was not a social call. "Why?"

He felt as much as heard the sigh on the other end of the line. "Tell him I need him to come to red Star as soon as he can, you too if you're available."

"Sure," the rangy pilot said in consternation knitting his brows together. "What's up?"

Marella paused for a moment before speaking. "I'll tell you as soon as you get here," she said. "Please hurry," even as she finished, the line went dead in his hand.

Saint John dropped the cordless phone back into the base, a nasty feeling of unease clenching his stomach that had nothing to do with the bitter brew in his cup. Glancing down at his watch, he figured he had enough time to fuel up the Jet Ranger before String arrived. From the sounds of things, Michael might not be the only one they were visiting today, it sounded like the Lady might be getting company as well.

* * *

"So, Marella didn't say anything more than that?" String asked, looking over at his brother in the pilot's seat.

"Nope," the older man said, glancing at him with worried hazel eyes. "What do you think is up?"

"No idea," String said, "but Seb's already here," he commented, pointing out the Hughes 500 landed next to the Firm's helicopters.

"Not a good sign, the mustang wasn't fast enough to suit," Saint John commented.

"No," String remarked, watching the scene below with anxious eyes. Mike and Roper were waiting beside the hanger for them. "The only one who seems to be missing is Caitlin."

"Then you'd better look again," Saint John stated, pointing out the brightly colored Santini Air Jet Ranger crossing the horizon line and gaining on them by the minute.

Saint John swung the chopper around, heavy on the left rudder, flaring the nose of the helicopter as it settled to earth.

Ducking the rotors, String dropped out of the helicopter, Saint John beside him, striding over to where the other two waited. Dragging off the mirrored aviator shades, he squinted at Mike with worried blue eyes. "So, what's Michael want?" he asked, watching Cait land the red, white and blue helicopter with long, practiced efficient ease.

"Don't know," Rivers commented. "Very hush, hush. Wouldn't say."

Hopping out, Cait jogged spryly up to them. "Hey guys," the red-head greeted them brightly. "Ready to go see what's up?"

"Works for me," Mike said leading the way. Falling into step beside him, String ushered Cait along, his hand at the small of her back as they followed a step behind.

* * *

The sound of the glass door sliding shut woke Jade, blinking owlishly from her slumber. Stiffly, she stretched, realizing her sweater had slid down her shoulder while she slept. Hastily, she snatched it back into place, hiding the still healing gunshot wound.

Breathing in a sigh of relief Seb wasn't here to see it…

Where was Seb anyway? She thought, remembering the sound of the glass sliding door clicking shut. Throwing the afghan off, she rose to her feet even as she heard a click behind her.

Instantly, she froze recognizing the sound.

"Good morning, Ms. Santiago," the man intoned. "Or should I say, Miss Sinclair?"

* * *

"And so," Michael said, gesturing to the file Saint John held, "We've got every reason to believe Guteriez had a partner overseas, and that partner is now in the states.

It seems reasonable to assume, he'll come after the samples you brought back."

"Why?" String asked. "From what Jade said, he had multiple vials of the stuff."

"True," Marella answered, striding sleekly around the desk to pluck the file from Saint John's hands and plunk it into Hawke's, pointing. The catch is, each vial seems to be subtlety different. They're all Benzodiapines, but that one of them you brought back is an intermediate-acting 3-hydroxy that has hypnotic effects, triggering off extreme aggression with anterograde amnesia - in short making for a very ruthless, efficient killing machine with no conscience and no memory of committing the act - easily disposed of with an overdose."

Mike whistled. "Great. Should I ask about the others?"

"No," Marella said shortly. "They're nasty, but nothing like this. In the wrong hands…"

"We get the picture," Hawke muttered, peering at her notes, a scowl etched into his handsome face. "What about an antidote?"

"That is the good news," Marella said flashing him a huge smile. "We have it, and from what I'm hearing the only one. An accident at the lab in Suriana destroyed the other Benzodiapine antagonists, meaning we have the only antidote."

Hawke raised startled sapphire blue eyes to hers. "Then he'll come after it," he said with dead certainty.

"He will," the female agent agreed. "And Karl Essig, Guteriez's former partner," she added seeing Caitlin's questioning glance, "will have absolutely no compunction about going through any one of you to get it back."

Seb glanced up from the chair where he sat, reading another copy of the much passed around file. Absently, he shoved his wire framed glasses up his nose. "This is your need to know, isn't it, Michael?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The spy turned to him, rubbing his chin. "Yes, Seb. Much as I hate to admit it, it is. You wouldn't be here except for the fact you have obvious ties to the rest of the Airwolf crew and that puts you at risk as well."

The angry look Seb shot at String was icy. "Jade was your contact in Suriana. That was how she got shot."

String looked at his younger brother with an ache of regret. And as simply as that, he thought, it'd begun. "Yeah, Seb. She was my contact."

"So, where is she now?" the younger Hawke brother demanded, rounding on Michael. "If I'm at risk because of my ties to Airwolf, what does that make her - she stole the bloody thing!"

Archangel look uncomfortable, his gaze dropping from Seb's icy glare.

"Let me guess," the lithe, young man snarled, leaning across the desk. "That's need to know, too!"

Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, Marella spoke. "Michael sent agents to pick her up this morning. She's nowhere to be found."

Seb cursed, slinging the folder across Michael's desk, at him. Snatching up his jacket, he slammed out of the office, the door crashing shut behind him.

Stunned Caitlin, Saint John and Mike stared at each other.

Hawke sighed, pushing to his feet. "I'll go," he said wearily, suddenly feeling far older than his years. "Told you," he murmured, looking at Caitlin, and with that, he too was gone.

* * *

Hands tied behind her, Jade tried groggily to open her eyes. She'd seen the man in her condo, had tried to lunge for her gun in the desk drawer, but he'd been on her before she'd made it more than five steps. Slammed her to the floor, struggling to breathe even as obsidian black eyes had glinted evilly as he drew a syringe of clear liquid from his pocket.

Weakly, she struggled against her bonds, her head throbbing and her heart pounding. Every time she lifted her head, she could feel the room spin and the contents of her stomach threatened to rebel.

Footsteps sounded on the floor outside, hard soles on concrete. Slamming her eyes shut, Jade concentrated on slowing her breathing, not moving, ears straining.

"Is the girl awake?" a harsh voice demanded impatiently.

"Not yet," another man whined. "I told you that was too much."

"And I told you, I make the decisions around here!" the first man sneered. "Any sign of the boyfriend?"

Fear clenched in Jade's throat as she waited for his response. Seb! She thought. Oh please, let him be okay. Away from there, safe.

"He was gone when I showed up," the second voice replied. "I'm telling you, Essig…"

She breathed a momentary sigh of relief. Seb at least was safe.

The first voice broke in across her thoughts. "No! I'm telling you," the man called Essig growled back malevolently. "I want him. No loose ends, no chance of word getting back to Hawke or the Firm until it's too late. Kill him if you have to, just take care of the problem."

"Right," the other replied, his tone surly.

Footsteps slapped across the concrete floor, echoing Jade's pounding heart. Seb, oh Seb, she thought. I got you into this, and now if I don't do something I'm going to get you killed. Frantically, she fought the ropes.

The door slammed open even as she slumped limply, praying her pounding heart didn't give her away.

Impatiently, Essig strode across the room, snatching her up roughly from the floor. Grimly he shook her. Jade relaxed against the move limply, feeling her teeth rattle in her head as she did so.

Cursing, the German dumped her to the floor. Her head hit with a solid thwack that had tears streaming out her eyelids, but she didn't cry out. Disgusted, the man aimed a not so gentle kick in her direction.

This time, she couldn't stifle the low sob of pain that escaped her lips, and he was on her in an instant. Grabbing her arm - the injured one, he hauled her to her feet and shook her savagely. "Playing possum, Ms. Sinclair?" he sneered.

Holding her breath, Jade didn't move, didn't respond.

Seeing she wasn't going to answer, Essig drew back and slapped her viciously.

Unable to help herself, Jade cried out, green eyes flying open in a haze of pain and confusion.

Karl Essig grinned ferally. "So, you are awake Ms. Sinclair. What a delight."


	13. Chapter 13

Loping, String chased after Seb.

"Seb, wait!" he called, uncaring who heard as a couple of Michael's agents turned, watching in the hall.

His younger brother kept going, stiff-arming the door and marching through it. Putting on a burst of speed, String caught up to him in the parking lot, grabbing his arm.

The reaction was instantaneous. The younger Hawke spun on him, shoving hard. "Get off me, String!" he growled. "I'm going after Jade, and nothing you say is going to stop me!"

Staggering, Hawke caught himself against a nearby SUV before falling. Reaching for his brother's shoulder, he tried again. "I'm not trying to stop you, Seb. Just saying maybe you should look before you go in guns ablazing."

"Look before I leap, and all that rot?!" Seb fired back. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Stringfellow Hawke," he snarled as he snatched his arm free and continued walking.

String grabbed him again, planting himself firmly in his path. "Seb," he pleaded.

Sapphire blue eyes, so like his own glared back. "Admit it String, you don't like her. You never have. I don't know what's between you two, but that much is apparent!"

Hawke faced him down, his own glare intense. "It's not a matter of liking her, Seb. I just didn't want to see you get dragged down into the quagmire of the intelligence community."

"Little late for that, don't you think?" the younger man asked bitterly. "Dad got us into this game, and we've been here ever since. Heaven knows you're in it up to your neck. Why should I be any different?"

Feeling the clench of pain in his chest, String faced down his brother. "I'll go after her Seb. You've got my word on it. Just stay out of it."

"Stay out of it?!" the blonde yelled back in disbelief. "I'm in love with that woman, Hawke! I'm not about to walk away from her and her in danger. Evidently you've gotten old, if you no longer know what that means. How would you feel if that were Cait out there, or one of your kids?" He spun away in frustration. "Forget it, obviously you don't have a clue what it's like."

Fighting down the pain that clawed through his chest and ripped at his guts, Hawke grabbed his shirt and shoved him up against the black SUV, pinning his arm across the other's throat as he did so. "Like hell, I don't, Seb," he spat, his blue eyes fever bright. "I've been there, fallen in love with one of Michael's 'angels.' I know what it's like to hold the woman you kissed, loved, and made love to in your arms and watch her die, knowing there's not a damn thing you can do about it," he bit out, his lips twisting bitterly.

"I've seen the only father I knew for most of my life die in an explosion meant for me, and nearly died doing it. It's not a pretty thing, Sebastian Hawke," he growled, shaking him angrily. "And it has a nasty way of following you home. Do you really want that?" he demanded. "Do you?"

His anger exhausting itself, String slumped against the truck his head bowed.

Footsteps rounded the corner of the SUV as a well-dressed blonde man in suit and tie, key in hand stared at them in astonishment.

Seb raised stunned eyes from String to the stranger. "We're busy," he snarled, stepping up in front of his brother protectively. "Beat it."

The guy glanced at both of them in confusion. "Yeah, but I just…" he pointed to the black SUV Hawke leaned against.

"Later," the younger Hawke brother growled.

Non-plussed, the guy backed off briefcase in hand - probably on his way to get security, Seb thought with irony, turning to face Hawke.

Bemused, he raked his left hand through his hair, suddenly not sure what to say. Seeing a whole different side to his brother than he'd ever known, he leaned against the truck shoulder to shoulder with him. He sighed, hunting for words, and hurting for him. "Look String, I know you mean well, but I can't walk away from this, for better or worse. No more than you could."

Hawke sighed, raising troubled eyes to meet his. "No, I guess not, but I sure wouldn't have wished it on you, Seb."

"Maybe not," his brother said wryly, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "but sometimes you just have to play the hand your dealt."

--

Pain radiating from her jaw and ribs, Jade glared at Karl Essig with glittering green eyes.

"Where is the Benzodiazepine, Ms. Sinclair?" he demanded coldly. "I know you gave it to Stringfellow Hawke. It's just a matter of time before I hunt him down."

"Better hope you find him, before he finds you," she tossed back defiantly.

Pacing, Essig fought down the urge to kill her right there. Instead, he slammed a hand to the wall beside her head, grinning evilly when he saw her involuntary flinch. "I will get it back, Ms. Sinclair, and him with it. I'll also be more than happy to get rid of that troublesome boyfriend of your. I'll enjoy watching that one die, in front of you. Think you'll enjoy it nearly as much?"

Swallowing against the sick feeling of nausea that threatened to choke her, Jade swallowed - hard. She didn't once doubt for a minute Essig would gladly kill him, and enjoy watching it.

--

Marella walked into Michael's office a sheath of papers in hand. Frowning, she watched her husband rub his temple wearily as he looked out the glass at Red Star. No matter how you looked at it, things didn't look good for Jade and now Seb and Hawke had dropped off the radar. Heaven only knew where they were now. Hawke's ability to survive was re-assuring, his ability to just disappear was not.

"Michael?" she murmured, stepping onto the plush cream-colored carpet.

"Mm-mm?" he asked, hearing her. "Any news?"

"On Hawke and Seb, no," she answered knowing it was not what he wanted to hear.

He frowned, a worried blue eye meeting hers, questioning.

"Intelligence says Karl Essig is somewhere in Los Angeles."

"He's bidding his time, getting ready to make his move," the spy declared.

Marella nodded, placing a slender, brown hand on his sleeve. "You want me to try to raise Hawke again?"

Michael shook his head. "He's gone to ground. He'll come out when he wants to be found, not before. Let Saint john and Mike know though. Maybe he'll contact them."

The willowy, dark haired agent laid a placating hand on Michael's arm. "We'll get him, Michael. I promise."

Looking up, the spy gave her a wry grin. "I know we will," he said patting her hand. "The only question is will it be soon enough to save Jade, Seb and String? I only hope so."

--

Standing aside a pile of bedrolls and supplies, Caitlin Hawke glanced at her husband. Dressed in a grey flight suit, he checked the clip in his .45, pocketing a second clip as well.

Doing a meticulous pre-flight, he checked the armament on the Lady, seeing the missile bay was loaded and ready, machine gun rounds in the winglets. Through it all, Amelia ran about happily just outside the lair entrance collecting tiny little, yellow flowers of Brittle Bush by the handful. Nicky sat beside String on Airwolf's winglet watching as he worked with sharp blue eyes.

Caitlin sighed. Amelia might somehow manage to avoid the family propensity for trouble, but Nicky seemed determined to study it.

A shriek behind her ripped her from her musings.

Grabbing a wrench from beside him on Airwolf's wing, Hawke ran towards the sound, Caitlin at his heels.

Fifteen feet outside the lair entrance, Amelia stood balanced on a brownish-orange rock shrieking, damp ringlets of auburn hair clinging to her neck, a handful of Brittle Bush grasped tightly in her hand.

Glancing down in horror at her dusty white tennis shoes, Hawke spotted the grayish, greenish tones of the four foot rattlesnake even as its distinctive rattle split the air.

Beside him, he heard Caitlin's gasp of horror as Mike grabbed her before she could rush forward, her thoughts only on her daughter.

"Stand still, 'Melia!" Hawke ordered curtly, stepping towards her.

Dark blue eyes swimming in tears met his as she sucked in shuddering breaths and tried to do as he asked, balancing precariously on the rock as the snake drew back, rattle buzzing. "Daddy," she whimpered.

"It's okay baby, I'm here," he whispered, sidling closer to her and the rock. He too was now well within striking distance of the snake.

She nodded, wobbling. Chubby hands flew out trying to catch her balance as the first tennis shoe slipped off the crumbling rock.

String lunged for her. Strong, sinewed arm snatching her up as she fell, catching her in mid-air. Clutching her to him, heart pounding, he anticipated the sharp bite of the rattler in his leg.

It never came. The sharp retort of several .45 slugs slammed into the ground at his feet.

Wrapping her tightly to him, String turned away placing his back between her and the shots, his ears ringing.

"String!" Caitlin sobbed fighting to break free. Saint John Hawke nodded to Mike, lowering his gun as he did so. Reluctantly, the boyish blonde pilot let her go, even as she skirted the now dead snake throwing her arms around her husband and daughter.

Following, Saint John made sure the snake was dead as he kicked it out of the way before worriedly grasping his brother's shoulder. "You okay?" he demanded.

"Yeah," Hawke muttered in wonder. "You bailed my behind out again, Sinj."

"What're brother's for?" The older man said hauling String to him in a fierce hug, his face splitting into a relieved grin.

Laughing, String returned the hug gratefully.

Caught between the two brothers, Amelia squirmed uncomfortably. "You're squishing me, Uncle Sinj," she complained wriggling.

"Sorry," he said backing off and eyeing String with rueful hazel eyes. He set the little girl down with the admonishment to stay away from "that" snake. Nodding she tore off for the lair, crumpled flowers still in hand.

Saint John looked at his brother, whose face was still pale beneath his tan. He shook his head in bemusement. "Wish I could get over it like that," String muttered.

"Gift of the young, buddy boy," Rivers taunted, slapping Hawke on the back. "You're problem is you got old."

"A couple incidents like that," String retorted wrapping his fingers in Cait's , "and I'll be positively ancient."

Mike laughed. "You mean you're not already?"

Blue eyes narrowed at him icily, before his lips quirked. "I'd watch myself, Rivers if I were you. You're only a couple days younger than me."

"True," Mike grinned. "But I don't have your kids!" Ducking the teasing shove Hawke aimed his way, he jogged back inside the lair laughing, String on his heels.

Watching them go, Caitlin shook her head. So much for Amelia not having the family talent for finding trouble, she thought ruefully. She was a Hawke, she had it in spades.

--

Tightening the last bolt, String looked over at Seb. "That should get it on my end. How 'bout you?"

Shoving his glasses up his nose, Seb peered at his brother. "Should get it. Wanna take her up and try her out?"

Rolling his shoulders, Hawke looked over at Rivers and Saint John. Saint John nodded almost imperceptively.

"Yeah," Hawke muttered, meeting Seb's anxious eyes. Reaching inside the cockpit, he threw him a flight suit. "Let's go."


	14. Chapter 14

High above the Valley of the Gods, Airwolf swooped through an Immelman turn, ascending through a half-loop and finishing with a half-roll out in the same direction they'd just come. Gripping the cyclic, String turned to Seb in the engineers position. "Okay, my end works," he commented. "How 'bout yours?"

Shrugging, Seb punched up the communications relay for red Star. "Red Star, Red Star," he called out impatiently, "You there, Michael?"

Almost instantly, Michael responded. "I'm here, Seb. Where are you?"

"Around," the younger man replied tersely. "You got any news for us?"

"Essig was spotted in Los Angeles earlier today," Marella said.

"Where?" the younger pilot demanded. "Where is he now?"

"Don't know," Archangel replied regretfully. "Lost the tail we had on him. Our agents are trying to pick up the trail again."

Seb slammed his hand to the console in frustration. "Michael, we're running out of time!" he ground out.

The spy's voice was somber when he answered. "I'm aware of that Seb. We're doing everything on our end, we can." He signed off.

String glanced back at his brother in regret. "Let's see about heading back to the Lair," he said quietly. "Maybe Sinj and Mike will have some leads for us."

Bowing his head, the younger Hawke nodded, his eyes burning. "Yeah," he murmured.

Turning back towards home, String prayed they did, his heart heavy.

* * *

Scowling, Saint John looked over Marella's file on Essig another time. "I don't know, Mike," he sighed. "I'm sure there's some clue here we could use, but I sure can't find it."

Pausing at his shoulder, Caitlin leaned over him thermos cup in hand, and snagged the file. "Let me see," she murmured, leaning companionably against her brother in law.

Mike sighed and took another sip of his own tepid coffee. "Don't know what else there is to see, Caitlin. We've been over it at least a dozen times."

"Fresh eyes, fresh perspective," she commented idly, not looking up.

Shaking his head, Rivers looked skeptically at his friend and team mate. Saint John shrugged.

"Hey, what about this?" Caitlin asked excitedly.

"What?" Mike said, straightening abruptly.

"Well, it says here…it's an intermediate-acting Benzodiazepine."

"Yeah - so?" Saint John remarked, shrugging.

"Well, Marella was estimating it to have a half-life of about six hours the way Essig created it."

This time it was Mike who spoke. "Okay Cait, I give. So?"

"That means they've only got a solid window of about six hours it'd be effective enough on Jade they can really control her - and they have to "program" her for whatever mission Essig is trying to accomplish. She can't be more than a short distance from the target. They can't control her long enough for anything else."

"So, up the dose," Saint John commented disinterestedly. "Essig wouldn't care about any side effects, so long as he gets what he wants."

"Can't," the vivacious red-head said excitedly. Half-life remains the same, not to mention they don't dare overdose her with the side effects that stuff has. Lose her - mission fails."

"Okay, you've got my interest," Saint John remarked, looking at her with intent hazel eyes.

" 'Bout time," she grinned, flashing him a dimple. Reaching over, she grabbed the map of Los Angels out of Mike's hand. Pouring over it, red pen in hand she frowned intently.

"Let's see," she murmured. Essig had dealings with the Iranians and he's known to be a sympathizer of theirs. They have a diplomatic contingent here this week, discussing nuclear armament with the Iraqis. He could sure stir that up."

Mike looked over at Saint John. The other man shrugged. "So how'd you know that?" he asked in puzzlement.

Glancing up at him, Cait frowned. "I read. It was in the briefing Lauren left on our desks earlier this week…"

Saint John pantomimed smacking himself in the forehead. Mike grimaced. He guessed he was going to have to pay more attention to Marella's briefings.

Caitlin continued as if uninterrupted. "The other possibility is this. The Iraqi Prime Minister is set to speak at a state dinner tonight. Security will be tight, but it's certainly nothing Jade couldn't get past. If they set him up as a target, very likely she could take him out."

Saint John whistled. "I'm impressed," he said. "You certainly do your homework." Raking a hand through his short blonde locks peppered with touches of grey, he asked, "So, which one do you think it is?"

Line furrowing her brow, Caitlin looked at the paper seriously again, flipping back and forth between the two targets before raising her eyes. "Both," she said, her face serious. "I think he'll go after both."

* * *

Flaring, Airwolf hovered over the stately autocratic building where a very private, very exclusive dinner was being held. Below, Mike helped a very elegantly dressed Caitlin out of a gleaming black Jaguar, the cars lines shimmering in the house lights.

"She'll be fine, String," Saint John said quietly.

Shooting him a glance, Hawke grinned ruefully. "That obvious, huh?"

Hazel-grey eyes met his. "Yep. Mike'll take good care of her, you know that."

"Yeah." Forcing his gaze away, String eased up on the left rudder, pointing the helicopter towards their second destination of the evening - where the delegation was meeting.

Pushing forward on the throttle, the Lady headed for her date with the nuclear delegation. Manning the co-pilot's chair, Seb watched the screens impatiently for any sign of Jade, or anything out of the ordinary.

"Anything?" String asked, looking over at him.

"Not yet," he replied curtly.

"We're here," String announced, spotting the elegant, understated building Marella had described. Hovering sideways, he perused the layout, before settling in a nearby field.

Dropping out of the deadly, black helicopter, Seb smoothed a nervous hand over his dark tux jacket. Doing the same, String waited for Saint John.

Together, the three men crossed the distance to the ornate, wooden doors that stood before them. Striding up the stairs, two at a time, Seb was greeted by a burly security guard.

"Identification?" he queried, holding out a beefy hand.

Sliding his hand inside his tux jacket pocket, Seb handed his ID to the man, even as Saint John and String joined them.

Perusing them carefully, the guard handed them back. "The Firm sent you?"

Surprised, startled blue eyes flew open wide. "Yeah," Hawke replied. "How'd you know?"

Broad face split in a grin. "I'd know those cards anywhere. If Michael vouches for you, then that's good enough for me."

"Thanks," Saint John replied in bemusement.

"Not a problem," the man replied, tossing back the ID cards. "Just try not to destroy anything, Captain Hawke." This was directed at String with a grin. "I've heard about you."

Finding himself liking the man despite the strange circumstances, String returned the grin. "I'll try," he muttered. "No promises."

Spread out across the room, Saint John, String and Seb watched the guests. "Heads up," Saint John's voice whispered in Hawke's ear. "Check out the east entrance."

Raising unbelieving eyes, Seb watched Jade walk into the room, dark hair upswept elegantly and trailing down the back of her neck.

Even as her beauty took his breath away, he frowned watching her eyes. No sign of recognition sparkled even as they lit on String or himself.

"Seb?" Hawke's voice came in his ear.

Swallowing, he couldn't answer.

"Seb?" String's voice came urgently. "Do we take her or not?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Seb prayed he was right. "Follow her for now. Something's up."

"Consider it done," Saint John replied, inconspicuously falling in behind her.

Oblivious, the dark-haired woman wove through the crowd, a part of it, yet apart. At first glance, Seb noted everything seemed normal, fine - but the eyes he noted with growing horror - her eyes were dull, distant, dead. There was no sign of the woman he loved.

Whispering into the mike he wore hidden on him, Seb gave the order. "She's definitely under the influence of something. Take her. Be quiet about it." Grimly, he slid through the delegates, closing in on her. Saint John did the same, surreptitiously edging her towards the doorway of the room.

Realizing at the last instant what was going on, Jade looked up, dark green eyes narrowing as she reached for her purse. Saint John recognized the move, knew the element of surprise was gone. He shoved through the crowd, desperately trying to reach her.

Slender fingers closed around the gun in her purse. Sliding back, her feet fell into firing stance…

Strong, tan fingers bit into her flesh, hauling her backwards, plunging a syringe of Flumazenil, the antidote she'd only so recently stolen, deep into the muscle of her arm.

Spinning, she fought back, slamming her heel down hard across the instep of Hawke's foot even as she threw her weight forward pulling him into her. Drawing back, Jade thrust a sudden , sharp elbow strike into his jaw and nose

Thrown off balance, Hawke reeled from the force of the blow. Staggering, he crashed into the wall his head smashing against it as she tore free. Dazed, he slid down the cream plaster, blood smearing it as he went.

"String!" saint John yelled, shoving past people, all attempts at discretion or subtlety gone. Seb stepped toward him, all the while trying to keep an eye on Jade's fleeing figure.

"Go, go!" String waved him on even as he shook his head and tried to push to his feet. Clearly torn, Seb glanced from him to the door Jade had just taken.

"Go!" String snarled, as Saint John reached down and hauled him roughly to his feet. "We can't let her get away!"

Plunging through the screaming melee, the younger Hawke tore after her.

"You okay?" Saint John said, hazel eyes concerned as Hawke placed an unsteady hand against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go help Seb," he rasped.

Throwing one last look at his brother, Saint John took off after the others.

Faltering, String wobbled for the front entrance and Airwolf, gaining his balance as he went. Hitting the door at a staggering run, he slid into the milling crowd as he ran. Tearing off his tie, he scrambled for the sleek, black battleship at a dead run.

* * *

Spotting Jade up ahead, pounding up the stairs, Seb sucked in a heaving breath pounding after her. Damn, he thought, the woman was running him into the ground. When the heck was that drug String had pumped her full of going to kick in, anyway?

Hitting the ground level, she slammed through the heavy door shoulder first.

He was gaining on her. Lungs burning, Seb blessed whatever had made her wear those deadly spike heels that had brought String down, because without them he wouldn't have had a hope in Hades of catching her. Putting on a burst of speed, he closed the distance between them, aware now of the sound of Airwolf's trill above.

Throwing all his weight at her he tackled her, slamming them both to the ground. Rolling, he fought to hold her as she kicked and bit.

Vaguely he heard Airwolf settle behind him. Felt the wrench of her elbow slam into his ribs as he struggled to block it. Gasping for air, he felt her shove him off her.

She rolled to her feet, deadly kick catching him in the stomach as she scrambled free.

Spitting dirt and grass, Seb rolled to his knees wheezing for air.

Swinging out of the cockpit, String pounded past him giving chase as she ran back towards the building.

Gaining the ground between them rapidly, Hawke dove for her legs, tackling Jade in one smooth move. She fought back desperately, but the strain of evading the chase was obvious, and String a lot more wary this time.

Putting all her effort into it, she flung a palm heel strike at his chin, as he straddled her, pinning her with his weight.

Blocking it at the last moment, Hawke snarled, "Enough!" Panting, he returned the blow with a hard right of his own to her jaw line, watching in relief as her eyes rolled up in her head unconscious. " 'Bout time," he muttered. Unceremoniously, Hawke reached down and dumped her limp form over his shoulder.

Shoving to his feet, he hefted her weight as he paced back towards the building. Behind him, Seb demanded, "What're you doing?" Saint John was hard on his heels.

"Getting some answers," String replied, his voice low and dangerous. Back at the entrance to the stairs, Saint John reached past him to open the door.

Stirring in his arms, Jade slurred, "Wha…What happened?" Her green eyes though clear now were still slightly unfocused. Reality kicked in, as her surroundings snapped into clarity. "No!" she protested, starting to struggle again. "No!"

"Not again," String muttered, tightening his hold on her.

"You don't understand," she panted. "You can't go…in there!"

"Why?" String demanded, blue eyes blazing as he slammed to a halt so abruptly the others almost plowed into him.

"C-4," she murmured. "A bomb set to go off where the delegation is."

"Ah, hell," Hawke cursed, handing her off to Seb. "There's still people down there!"

"Get to Airwolf," Saint John commanded, giving his younger brother a shove towards the door as he clattered after String down the stairs. "String, wait!" he yelled.


	15. Chapter 15

Yelling, Hawke ordered the remaining stragglers out of the room. When they hesitated, he didn't. "Bomb!" he yelled, "There's a bomb!"

Screaming the women scrambled for the exit as their husbands shoved them from behind.

"String!" Saint John shouted as he pounded into the room. "We've got to get out of here!"

Ignoring him Hawke peered under the stage area hunting for some sign of the bomb Jade had mentioned. It had to be here somewhere, he thought desperately. Crawling under the curtained edge of the stage, he fished a flashlight out of his flight suit, flashing it in all the corners and shadowed areas.

Spotting a suspicious looking lump in one of the corners next to the support he squirmed deeper, struggling to reach it. Tunnel-visioned, he ignored his brother as he fought to reach the object just beyond his fingertips.

Firm hands grabbed hold of his ankles hauling hard, dragging him out. "Now!" Saint John ordered, "Come on, String!"

Fingers just barely brushing plastique as he felt himself being dragged out, String fought to kick free. "Sinj, no! I've got it."

"I don't care what you've got," his brother yelled. "We're outta here!" Grabbing String's other leg, he forcibly dragged him out.

"Sinj!" String struggled in his grasp.

"No!" Saint John growled, snatching him up and shaking him. "We're getting the hell out, just like everybody else. Now move your tail!" he said, giving him a shove for the stairs.

Stumbling, String caught himself as Saint John abruptly let him go. A glance around the rapidly emptying room convinced him his brother had a point. Giving a terse nod, he pelted for the stairs, Saint John close behind him.

Even as they reached the top of the stairs, the first rumble shook the building, echoing and tremoring through. Staggering with the force of the blast, String went down hard on one knee as he grabbed for the handrail. A strong hand knotted in his jacket, hauling him to his feet, shoving him up the steps.

Together, he and Saint John made the upper stairwell. Another explosion ripped through the building, plaster and concrete dust clogging the air, drifting down, stinging eyes and making breathing gritty and hard.

"Move it, String!" Saint John coughed, his breathing rough and harsh. Swiping his arm across his face, he fought to breathe the thickening air. Smoke and dust swirled and hung like a fog.

His lungs burning and stinging with the effort, String shoved at the outside door. "It's stuck!" he yelled, collapsing against it in a fit of coughing.

Saint John leaned against the wall, hands braced on his knees, his heart pounding and vision blurring, the acrid stench of fire in the air. His head pounded and ears roared even as he heard the groan of supports giving way and the crackle of flames in the main room below. Suddenly, the world narrowed down to him and his brother, and the fact if they didn't get out of here in a hurry they were both going to die.

Shoving off the wall, Saint John dredged up the last of his strength, taking a running lead and slamming his shoulder into the unyielding wood.

The door shuddered with the force of the blow, but refused to give. Stepping back, Saint John tried again, crashing his shoulder against the door. Groaning, the door held.

Backing up, Saint John braced for another run. Hawke staggered to his feet, sweat streaking his face and joined him. Sapphire blue eyes narrowed as he gauged his timing to match his brother's.

Two shoulders slammed simultaneously into the wood. The door shuddered and splintered beneath the blow, but held.

Disbelief etched Hawke's face as he hung his head, hands planted on his knees. "Can't get it… Sinj," he rasped. "I'm sorry…"

Fury flared in Saint John Hawke's eyes. "Never would've taken you for a quitter," he snarled at his brother.

Nearly doubled forward in a coughing fit, String peered at his brother, tears running down his cheeks unchecked. "Can't do it, Sinj," he gasped, sliding down the wall holding his sides.

"Then get out of my way," Saint John Hawke growled giving him a shove. Hazel eyes were cold as he glared at his brother, "Quitter!"

Hurt and anger burned in Hawke's throat as he struggled to his feet under his brother's unforgiving glower. Legs trembling, vision graying, he reached for the wall as Saint John backed up for another blow.

Staggering, he joined his brother on unsteady legs. Eyeing the younger man beside him, anger the only thing holding him upright, Saint John grinned at his bowed head as he struggled to suck in a breath. Some things never changed.

"Ready?" he grunted.

Coffee-brown hair flopped as String nodded in agreement, not enough breath left to answer.

"On three," Saint John rasped. "One, two…" the brothers braced together, "Three!" Bodies moving as one, the two men slammed shoulder first into the door. Wood splintered, and crashed around them, giving way.

"Again," Saint John ordered, his words barely a gasp. Coughing, Hawke staggered free of the shattered door, blue eyes meeting his brother's underneath a sweat-soaked brown fringe. Saint John nodded, hazel grey eyes intense in a dust and sweat-streaked face, chalk and debris dusting his hair.

Stepping back, the two ran together, their weight solidly impacting on the wrecked door. It fell, both of them hitting the ground hard with it.

String felt the air leave his lungs with a whoosh. Laying there, he gaped and gasped for air like a dying fish, Saint John shaking his head trying to gather his wits.

"Get up!" he panted, shoving his brother. The flames were closer now, crashing debris falling behind and around them, the explosions ripping through the building, closer now.

Hawke continued to gasp, his hands clutching frantically, unable to breathe. His lungs fought, but he got no air.

"Ah hell," Saint John muttered, feeling the heat on his neck. Stooping, he tried to drag String to his feet, but he couldn't get him up. And with that, he threw himself over his brother on the ground and prayed.

Around him the world exploded. Brick crashed and thudded to the ground. Glass shattered, flinging outward in a crystalline arc of razor-sharp blades. Metal bowed and wrenched and groaned, with the percussion of the explosion. A veritable hail of rubble streamed down slamming into the ground around them, embedding itself in the dirt. Heat rolled over from the roiling flames of the fire that blazed where the building had stood only moments before.

Aghast and dumbfounded, Seb stood beside Airwolf staring at the raging inferno that suddenly exploded in front of him. "String! Sinj!" he cried, the names ripped from his throat. "No!"

Boots thudding over the uneven ground, he ran towards the explosion. Acrid smoke and burning embers stung his eyes even as he sought Saint John and String amongst the burning rubble. Ducking still falling debris, ash burning his skin, he ran into the heart of the destruction, shielding his face with his sleeve.

"Saint John! String! Where are you?" Around him now he felt the heat, despair welling up like a bottomless pit within him. Where were they?

Brushing burning paper ash from his arm he blinked against the smoke, frantically searching.

"String!" He yelled. "Answer me you dumb…"

Harsh, rasping coughing greeted his ears, spinning him where he stood, wildly searching. There! Almost under the crumpled metal, a dark brown head weakly struggled to push free.

Throwing himself across the expanse, Seb flung himself down, grabbing the bent and broken metal to pull it away. Yelping in pain, he snatched his hands back from the hot metal, shoving it aside with his jacketed arm. "String," he called, "I'm coming. Hold on."

The metal rolled, curled on itself from the initial explosion and Seb pushed free of it to Hawke at last.

"Gotcha bro…" he trailed off, momentarily frozen. Blood puddled across the ground staining Saint John's jacket, the weight of his body pinning String underneath. The dark blonde hair was streaked with dirt, and sweat, blood trickling down his temple and across his shoulders. "No," he whispered in stunned agony.

"Seb," the harsh rasp of String's smoke-ruined voice demanded his attention, the dark blue eyes desperate in the pale, soot-streaked face.

Pain-filled dazed blue eyes met his.

"Seb," String grated, "Give me…a hand…here."

* * *

Striding gracefully up the circular stairs to the second floor, Caitlin Hawke paused looking out over the floor below. Titan hair cascading across her shoulders, the blue-green eyes narrowed as she looked out at the crowd searching for Mike.

"Looking for someone?" an amused voice whispered, breath warm in her ear.

"Mike!" she gasped in surprise.

"Gotcha," the blonde pilot grinned. "And do you know how hard that is to do? You're getting 'til those supersonic ears are as hard to evade as Hawke's."

Tossing him a mischievous grin, she retorted, "You're just jealous."

"Pretty much," Mike admitted unconcernedly. Leaning against the wrought-iron railing, he joined her companionably. "Any sign of Jade or Essig?"

A frown marred the fair, freckled red-head's skin. "No," she sighed. "You?"

Mike shook his head, flashing a devilish grin at a svelte blonde who whispered past in a midnight blue gown that left little to the imagination. "Nope, nowhere upstairs unless he's landing on the roof by helicopter."

Cait arched an eyebrow at him.

"No," he answered. "Before you even ask, there's nowhere up there to land one. Nice try."

Caitlin sighed. "I don't know Mike. I was just so sure, Essig would hit both…"

The boyish pilot patted her arm comfortingly. "Night's still young. Plenty of time for disaster and mayhem. Don't give up yet."

"Mike!" Cait laughed. "That's terrible!"

"What?" he asked, all injured innocence. "Were you not just complaining because Essig had not shown up with his own dose of calamity?"

Shaking her head, Caitlin rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable…"

Mike threw a hand up before the words even finished leaving her lips. "Speak of the devil."

Sidling up beside him, she peered over the rail. "You'd better get down there," she murmured, reaching surreptitiously for the gun in her purse.

"Right," Mike said, all business now. "See you on the other side."

"Sure hope so," Caitlin murmured, her eyes on Essig's tall, elegant form as he worked the crowd. With every movement he drew closer to the Iraqi Prime Minister.

With studied nonchalance, Rivers made his way down the stairs. He covered the ground with surprising speed, looking the whole time like he was in no hurry at all.

Watching warily from the stairs, Caitlin waited. She'd like to be down there, helping Mike but in a crowd this big it helped to have a bird's eye view. Just left them without a lot in the way of back up. Not for the first time, she wished Archangel had been able to track down Roper, since they didn't dare use one of his own agents due to all the moles the department had had in recent months. "If wishes were horses," she murmured, mentally finishing the phrase, "then beggars would ride," in her head.

Essig was nearing the Prime Minister now. Mike was still yards away. Bending he whispered something in the Prime Minister's ear and Caitlin saw his eyebrows fly up in astonishment and his eyes widen before he turned to follow the suave looking German.

Instincts screaming, Cait clicked the safety off the gun she held and started down the stairs. Casually, she slid out of the heels she wore, sliding them to the edge of the staircase and out of the way as she went. "Heading for the door," she whispered into the mike she wore, hoping Mike would hear in all the din.

"Got it," came his reply.

Sweeping around the bottom of the staircase, Caitlin lost sight of him as she headed for the French doors leading to the patio. Unease pounded through her heart, as she worried about what she couldn't see, not knowing what was going on.

"Another glass of wine, madam?" A tall dark-skinned waiter blocked her path, a tray of drinks balanced on one hand.

"Uh, no…no thanks," Cait muttered, trying to sidestep the man. The doors beckoned mere feet away.

"You sure?" the man asked, neatly stepping in front of her once more, blocking the doors and her escape.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure," she answered impatiently. "Look I've got to go," she murmured, trying once more unsuccessfully to get around the man.

Dark brown eyes stared at her unblinkingly. "I'm sorry miss," he spoke, his tone anything but. "I'm going to have to insist."

"Wha…?" Cait demanded, pulling her attention from the doors to him.

Blue-green eyes widened in surprise at the large bore of the gun he held on her.

* * *

Kneeling, Seb gently ran his hands over Saint John's limp body cataloguing injuries. Blood still seeped from the head wound, but the bloody shoulder and shirt were a greater concern. How much was String's and how much was Sinj's?

Just probing, he was covered in it, he thought, wiping sticky hands on the flight suit.

"Hang on," he whispered meeting String's intense gaze.

"Yeah," the prone man muttered, struggling to breathe with the acrid smoke, his burning lungs and Saint John's full weight on him.

Carefully, Seb hefted Saint John's weight up and onto the ground, allowing Hawke to wriggle loose with difficulty.

"You okay?" his brother asked, throwing him a worried glance.

He nodded. "I'll live," he whispered dryly. Head pounding and lungs aching, String pushed free from his brother Saint John's limp form. Struggling to his knees, he winced telling himself he was okay, but the amount of blood cared even him. It wasn't good, and he knew it.

Gently easing Saint John's body over, String motioned for Seb to help him. Together, they eased him back on the blackened, charred ground. Taking in the shrapnel wound just under the other's ribs, his lips tightened. "Blast," he sighed bowing his head, fighting the sense of hopelessness that washed over him at the sight. He'd seen men in 'Nam die from less. He heaved a huge breath, looking over at Seb with worried eyes, before he jerked his head. "Come on."

His younger brother nodded mutely rising to his feet, following his lead. Kicking aside rubble, String pawed through the destruction around them.

"What…" Seb started to ask in puzzlement.

"Help me find a decent piece of wood or something flat," String snarled impatiently at him. "Those flames are going to keep coming and we've got to move him. There's no help for us here.

Scrambling across the debris, Seb plundered through the piles. Tossing aside another piece of curled metal, he found what they'd sought and helped String lift Saint John onto what was left of the ruined door.

"Got him," Seb commented looking up with worried blue eyes.

"Let's get him up," String grunted.

The other nodded.

Together, muscles straining, they lifted balancing the board and Saint John's body between them. The younger man leading the way, String hefted his end, feeling the burn of bruised and banged muscles.

"Hold on Sinj," he whispered, blue eyes watching the uneasy rise and fall of his brother's chest on the makeshift stretcher.

Staggering, they headed for the sleek, black helicopter. Rousing, Saint John groaned.

"Easy, easy," String soothed as the board shifted in his hands. Seb scrambled to keep his end aloft. Tightening their grip, they picked up the pace.

"Hustle it up," String rasped at Seb. "He starts thrashing around, we'll never get him aboard Airwolf."

"Gotcha," Seb threw back, biceps straining under the weight of the litter.

Glancing to the Lady, String abruptly stumbled.

Catching the look on his face, Seb froze where he stood. "Jade?" he whispered.

"You got it," Hawke said, still not moving.

"Do I wanna know?"

"Probably not."

"Damn," he cursed, turning as he did so.

Long hair whipping in the wind, braced against the Lady's nose, Jade stood gun in hand - pointed at them.

Groaning, Saint John shifted, hazel eyes flashing open. Instantly, a hand swung up, clenching to his side as he doubled up in pain. The makeshift litter shifted, snatched out of Seb's hand. Desperately, he grabbed for it, even as String tried to offset the sudden shift of weight, nearly hitting the ground, going down on one knee.

A shot rang out, creasing the air beside him. Instinctively, Hawke ducked, gripping the board. Seb's end hit the ground, the gun coming up in his hand. He spun.

"Wait!" Hawke cried.

Torn, Seb threw a look at him. "Hell, String," he cried. "I love her, but I can't let her shoot you and Sinj where you stand!"

"No, Seb," Hawke stopped him, his voice filled with certainty. "Look," he said gesturing with his head back to the building.

Raising tortured blue eyes, Seb turned towards the spreading flames, catching movement in his peripheral vision.

Standing at the edge of the flames, a dark-haired man raised a gun. "What the…?"

"Down!" Hawke yelled, throwing himself across Saint John and yanking Seb down. A bullet thwacked into the ground next to where he'd just been.

Overhead another shot rang out.

Pulling loose from String's grasp, Seb drew his own gun, aiming.

Seb returned fire, then watched as the gunman started to fall, only to raise his hand at the last instant and fired back.

He felt more than heard the bullet hit. A low cry, the thud of flesh hitting the ground. The look on String's face confirmed it, even before he turned to look.

"Jade!" he yelled. "Jade!"

Boots scrabbling in the dirt, Seb ran for Airwolf. Bowing his head, String turned away.

"String…" Saint John's voice thready and pain-filled, pulled him back to the present. "She okay?"

Hawke shook his head, refusing to look.

"Damn," Saint John muttered, closing his eyes in sorrow.

String gripped his hand, knowing they were running out of time, but unable to shake thoughts of Gabrielle in the hot Libyan desert from his mind. A pain still sharp after all these years, and a death that still haunted him, how could he begrudge Seb his last few minutes with her?

And then, a gentle hand came down on his shoulder, even as Seb's strong hands reached for the other end of the litter. Startled, blue eyes flew up to meet first Seb's and then Jade's green ones.

"But I thought…" he began.

"I was dead, Captain Hawke?" Jade returned mockingly. "Have to do better than that," she said, blood still trickling from the flesh wound in her arm.

String grinned in disbelief. "I'll keep that in mind."

Stunned green eyes flashed to him before she laughed. "Nice try, Hawke."

"Who said I was trying?" he grunted, hiding a grin and lifting the litter with Seb's help.

Shaking her head, Jade fell into step beside them.

Alone in the courtyard, Essig leveled a gun on the Prime Minister with a malevolent grin.

"What is this about?" the older man demanded imperiously. "Where is Shamir?"

"Indisposed I'm afraid, as you too will soon be." He raised the gun. "I had such hopes for you, but unfortunately once again the Americans have stuck their noses in where they don't belong. This'll have to do."

Brown eyes hardened in anger. "How dare you!"

"Oh, I dare," he sneered. "I dare."

"Well, so do I," Mike Rivers commented sardonically, stepping out of the shrubbery and placing his own gun against Essig's skull. "Drop it."

Scowling, the blonde man dropped the gun disdainfully.

"Kick the gun away," Mike ordered.

Spinning the man shoved away from Mike, grabbing the abandoned gun. Sprawling as he hit the ground, Mike rolled bringing his own weapon up and fired.

Essig fell with a groan where he stood, and didn't move.

Numbly, Mike stumbled to his feet, his gun still on the fallen man. "You okay, Prime Minister?"

* * *

Writhing in pain from the shrapnel wounds, it was all the three of them could do to get him to Airwolf. String and Seb carried the litter, Jade battled to keep him on it.

"Almost there, Sinj," Seb encouraged.

Looking up, Jade cast a worried glance at Hawke. Truth be known he didn't look that much better than his brother, she thought. Sweat soaked and soot-covered, he struggled to keep his end of the litter up, jaw clenched in determination.

She couldn't help wondering if the blast that had caught Saint John, hadn't caught him more than he'd admitted. She doubted he'd appreciate the question though, watching the way his eyes and face hardened with resolution as he struggled to get his brother to Airwolf.

"Set him down," Hawke ordered through clenched teeth as they reached the helicopter. Lowering the litter, Jade held Saint John's hand while Seb scrambled for the first aid kit, along with the morphine.

Hoping down, he handed String the kit.

Sucking in a harsh breath, Jade just managed to keep from crying out as Saint John's grip on her hand tightened.

Adeptly, Hawke filled the syringe, tapping it to make sure there were no air bubbles. "You'll have to hold him," he murmured to Jade , his eyes troubled.

She nodded.

Tightening the tourniquet around Saint John's forearm, String sought a vein, while Seb packed gauze around the wound.

Kneeling closer, Jade brushed a trembling hand across Saint John's brow and through his hair. "Stay with me, Captain Hawke."

Turning his head towards her, hazel eyes pain drugged, he whispered, "Major. It's Major."

Jade grinned, sharing the smile with String though her eyes were filled with tears. "Major it is then," she whispered, brushing a kiss against his cheek as she held him close, her arm across his chest.

His grip on her hand tightened, as String found the vein and shoved the plunger of the syringe home.

Jade never flinched, only holding him tighter, whispering soothing words of nonsense, her cheek against his hair.

Slowly, his grip on her hand slackened as the medicine took effect, Saint John relaxing into the arms of the morphine.

Abruptly, the grip tightened, snatching her attention to him. "Promise me," he slurred. "Promise me you'll watch over Seb and String."

Caught off-guard Jade scrambled for words, nodding mutely. " 'Course," she murmured finding her voice.

"Mean it…" Saint John muttered.

"I will," she promised, meeting Hawke's worried blue eyes. "But only 'til you can again," she amended. This sounded like a deathbed promise and he obviously didn't like it one bit.

" 'Til then," Saint John whispered, the grip going slack as his stormy eyes slowly fluttered closed and he abruptly went limp in her arms.

Unable to help herself, Jade's fingers sought out a pulse as if to reassure herself he was still with them. Evidently she wasn't the only one that needed reassurance, she thought catching Hawke's desperate eyes on both of them.

"He's just out," she whispered.

Blue eyes flickered closed for a moment as String drew deep breath, blowing it out heavily. Visibly, he gathered himself in the next breath. "Get his feet, Seb," he ordered, and help me get him inside."

The younger Hawke nodded. Jade scrambled up behind String into Airwolf. Arms trembling with effort he worked to drag him in.

Jade shoved String over, wrapping slender muscular arms around Saint John's chest and helping drag him in. She ignored the burning pain in her own arm.

Scowling, Caitlin fought the ropes that held her, that bound her to the chair. A piece of silver-gray duct tape over her mouth, she seethed, slamming her feet angrily against the floor.

"Give it up, Ms. Hawke," the dark-skinned man said. "Nobody can hear you and I'm not interested."

Furious, Cait screamed at him, at him. Not that it did her any good, coming out as a muffled, intelligible noise. Nostrils flaring, chest heaving, she tried to catch her breath afterwards.

White teeth gleamed cruelly in the dark face. "Feel better?" he smirked, "I know I sure do."

Glaring, she kicked out at him, only to have him return the favor with a sharp backhand to the face. Cheek cut and bleeding where his ring hit her, she shook her head against the grayness as the door clicked shut.

Where was Mike anyway? She wondered frantically. Unaware of the second man, she thought wildly. She had to get out of here. Eyes narrowed, she panned around the room searching.

Nothing, she cursed. Fine, she'd do it the hard way.

Balancing on her toes, she rolled forward, dropping the chair back with a thud. Again she tried, leaning further forward, this time she caught herself before she fell back. Tethered to the chair ropes chafing her wrists, she half-stumbled, half-hopped towards the window.

Reaching it she had to rest, collapsing with another dull thud, panting with exertion, leg muscles burning. Summoning the last of her strength, she leaned forward catching herself, though not before she whacked her head into the windowsill.

"Mmph," she mumbled, eyes watering and stinging with the pain. Turning she dropped backwards with the chair, falling as she went, smacking the window glass on the way down.

The window shattered, flinging glass across the sill and into the floor. The wood chair landed amidst it all, sprawling Cait barefoot in the middle of the pile of glass.

Reaching behind her, Caitlin carefully felt through the glass shards hunting a larger piece. Finding one, her fingers closed around it. Knifelike edge cutting into her palm, she sawed against the ropes, the glass slippery-sticky in her grip.


	16. Chapter 16

"How's he doing?" Seb asked worriedly, keeping his eyes on the windscreen and the instruments.

"Not good," String said bluntly, watching the sensors that monitored crew health. "Can't you fly this thing any faster?"

"Look String, if you think you can do it better, then come do it," Seb growled back. "He's my brother, too!"

String bowed his head biting back a sharp retort. Turbos were a no go with Saint John's wounds, he definitely didn't need anything to drive the shrapnel any deeper or make the bleeding any worse. Already the gauze Seb had packed around the abdominal wound was stained bright red.

Jade placed a comforting hand on String's arm. Raising uneasy eyes, he looked at her. "He's your brother too, String. Don't cut him out. He's hurting too," she murmured.

Silently, he had to admit she was right. Seb was an excellent pilot in his own right, and he was pushing Airwolf as hard as he could without turbos. It was all he could do. "Sorry, Seb," he muttered. "Just worried."

"Forget it," Seb commented. "We're about fifteen minutes from the nearest Firm clinic. You want to get on the horn with them? Might even check in with Caitlin and Mike."

"Yeah," Hawke replied shortly, his brow furrowed as he looked down at his brother's uneasy breathing.

Jade said nothing, her lips tightening as the monitors registered another drop.

* * *

Sawing on the last strand, Cait heard the door click open even as the ropes fell free. Sweeping numb feet under her, she struggled to get to her feet even as her heart sank. She wasn't sure she could do it again, she thought desperately. Fighting down the rising panic, she tightened her grip on the glass shard and waited, telling herself she'd do whatever she had to. Mike was depending on her.

"Caitlin?" a low, stunned voice commented in surprise. "What happened?''

Rolling to her knees, Cait turned to meet the bluest pair of eyes she'd ever seen - except String's. "Rmpph," she mumbled against the duct tape, even as he lunged across the floor, heedless of the glass scattered around.

Beside her, Roper knelt, his hands gentle as he carefully pulled the duct tape free from her mouth. "Oh Cait, honey," he whispered, as he reached for her numb hands and saw the blood, "what have you gone and done?"

Uncaring, Caitlin flung herself into his arms. "Roper!" she cried. "What're you doing here?"

"Michael called," he said simply. "He said you needed help. Where else would I be?"

Gratefully, Cait's fingers tightened in his. "You'll never know how glad I am to see you."

"Got an idea," he said, squeezing her hand back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Caitlin answered. "Fine. Where's Mike?"

"He's here too?" Roper grimaced. "Didn't see him."

"Then we'd better find him," she stated. "There's a second man he knows nothing about."

Stumbling to her feet, Cait grabbed Roper's arm as she staggered and nearly fell. "Sorry," she muttered, as she caught herself.

"You sure you're okay?" Roper asked giving her a worried look as he steadied her.

"I'm fine, but Mike won't be if we don't find him," she said worriedly. She took a limping step forward, trying to avoid the glass everywhere.

Glass crunched under Roper's feet as he stepped after her. Startled, he looked down, before turning to sweep her up in his arms and striding over the mess. Setting her down by the table, he faced her, watching as she painfully stepped down on one cut foot.

"Cait, you are not alright!" he argued, his voice deep with concern. "Stay here. Let me go after Mike. We'll come back for you."

Straightening to her full five foot five inches, Cait glared String's oldest son in the eye. "I'm backing Mike up. You can come if you want, or not, but I'm going. Are we clear?"

"We're clear," Roper answered, eyebrows shooting up and fighting the grin that threatened to pull at his mouth. Well, now he knew where 'Melia got it from, he thought ruefully - and it sure wasn't Hawke. Evidently the fiery red-head was his match after all.

"You got a weapon?" he asked almost rhetorically.

Plunking the glass shard down on the table, Caitlin snagged String's Walther PPK out of his waistband. "I do now," she said levelly, and with that she was gone out the door even if it was with a limp.

Suddenly glad he'd thought to pick up his own weapon as well from the apartment, Roper shook his head and headed after her at a run.

* * *

Airwolf flared, her nose pointing skyward even as she settled with a thud on her struts. The landing was hard enough to rattle Jade's teeth, yet String gave no sign he'd even noticed, every ounce of his attention on his brother, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the fluttery pulse under his finger. Fear churned his stomach, made his chest ache. Even as he sat there, Saint John's hand in his he could feel him slipping away.

"Fight Sinj," he whispered in desperation, heedless of the tears that clogged his throat, filled his eyes. The monitors registered another drop, alarms sounding.

The bay doors opened and medical personnel swarmed in, hustling Saint John onto a stretcher, his hand falling away from String's. Ignoring the Lady's crew, they bundled up their patient and headed back across the roof at a run.

Forgotten and alone, Hawke stood beside Airwolf and watched his brother go. Bowing his head, the tears fell even as Jade wrapped her arm around his waist and Seb stood beside him. Seb's hand fell to his shoulder as they huddled together.

* * *

Michael's call interrupted the interrogation of Essig, abandoned the search for the second gunman.

Walking into the Prime Minister's suite after nearly half an hour of vain searching for Caitlin's captor, Roper eyed the steel-eyed guards warily, glad it'd been Mike making explanations and not him. Evidently his words had been enough because it was Essig who sat at gunpoint and not Mike who leaned against the desk, phone at his ear.

Light blue eyes met Caitlin's even as she walked in the door. He made some other comment before he straightened and held it out to her.

Perplexed, Cait mouthed the words, who is it? Whilst she reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Cait, this is Michael," the spy began without preamble.

"Hi, Mich…" she began.

"Cait, there's been an explosion," he cut across her words.

Staggering, she leaned against the desk on legs that would suddenly no longer hold her. Roper grabbed for her arm.

"String?" she whispered, fighting to get the words past numb lips. "Oh please, no…"

"Saint John," Michael told her. "He evidently threw himself over Hawke when he couldn't get him out in time and protected him from the blast."

Squeezing her eyes shut, in pain, she felt Roper's arms close around her, comforting her, supporting her.

"How bad?" she whispered.

"Airwolf's on her way, Seb's flying her. I think you'd better come."

"We'll be there," she promised, as Mike took the phone from her and hung it up.

"She'll be here in five minutes," he murmured. "I think we'd better go meet him."

Mutely, Cait nodded even as Roper and Mike wrapped their arms around her waist and they walked out together.

* * *

Mike heard the Lady's ghostly drone long before he actually saw her. Hovering like a dark shadow, she flared before settling to the ground.

Ducking long, sweeping rotors, Seb skirted the sleek black nose of the helicopter handing over control of the helicopter to Mike. Automatically, Caitlin took the engineering position along with Seb, Roper taking the co-pilot's position.

"Ready?" Mike asked, his voice quiet.

"Ready," Caitlin affirmed as he drew the collective back.

Unspeaking Rivers lifted Airwolf into the air, the bite of the rotors sharp in their ears. Swinging the Lady into the wind, he pointed her towards home and Saint John and String.

"Turbos," he called.

"Turbos."

* * *

Archangel stood in the doorway his gaze dark as he took in the crews of Airwolf. Somewhere along the line, the Lady's family had become his own, when they bled so did he. And he thought with a sigh, they were bleeding today.

Slender fingers wrapped themselves around his own strong ones and he turned to find himself looking into Marella's tear-filled, dark brown eyes. His gaze questioned her, even as he fought for the words.

"They don't think he's going to make it," she whispered, her own heart braking as the tears fell.

Bowing his head in pain, Michael looked down at the floor before he raised his eyes to the friends and family in the room before him. "Damn," he whispered.

Marella's fingers tightened on his. "We've got to tell them, Michael."

Frowning, he looked at her absently, his thoughts chaotic.

She merely waited in silence.

After a moment, he sighed. "You're right, of course." Throwing his shoulders back, he obviously gathered himself, bracing for the inevitable. Reaching for the door, he paused looking at her. "You'd think though," he whispered, "that this family has seen enough heartache to last them forever."

She gave him a sad smile, as she slid her arm into his and they walked into the room.

* * *

Looking up at the sound of footsteps, String was the first one on his feet. "Michael," he greeted him somberly, the piercing blue eyes probing, seeking news.

"Hawke," Michael greeted him, shaking his hand, his left hand gripping his shoulder. He felt rather than saw, five pairs of eyes swivel anxiously in his direction. Marella's hand tightened on his arm. Looking away, he caught sight of Nicky and Amelia playing in the corner. "We need to talk, Hawke."

Drawing himself up, the sapphire blue eyes were pain-filled as he staggered back a step as if drunk, and then the implacable mask slid into place. "You might as well say it to all of us, Michael. It concerns everybody here."

Swallowing, Archangel met his eyes and then Caitlin's as she came to stand behind him, felt the others rise and come to their feet, watching, waiting.

"Very well," he said quietly. "The doctors don't think he's going to make it." At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw Caitlin reach for Hawke. "Saint John's injuries are extensive and coupled with the blood loss and shock he's suffered…well, quite frankly, they're amazed he survived the trip here."

"He's beat the odds before."

"Yes," Michael replied soberly. "But infection is setting in Hawke, and…"

"The odds aren't good, String," Marella broke in contritely. "Couple of days at most, unless he turns things around in a hurry. I'm sorry."

Stunned, String just stared at her numb, dumbfounded. Mike rose to his feet, placing his hand on Hawke's shoulder, Seb and Roper coming to stand beside him.

Eyes stinging, Hawke bowed his head. Sighing, Archangel turned away not sure what comfort he could offer to this man who'd been his adversary and friend all these years. What was there really to say? He thought bitterly.

Blinking, String raised his head. Caitlin's arm was wrapped around his waist. He held himself tightly, apart from them all. "Can I see him, Michael?"

The words were tentative, unsure. Something in all his years, Archangel had seldom, if ever seen from Hawke. He looked at Marella.

"Yeah, Hawke," she murmured, flashing him a weak grin. "Come on. I'll see what I can do."

Seb started to step up, to say he wanted to see Saint John as well. Roper placed a heavy hand on his arm, stopping him where he stood. "Wait Seb," he murmured. "This is between them."

Frustrated and hurt, Seb glowered. "He's my brother, too!"

"No one's denying that, Seb," Cait said quietly, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. "But String's spent half his adult life hunting for Saint John, only to get him back and lose him again - saving his life. It's going to take him some time to come to terms with that. If he ever does. Just give him a little time, Seb, please…"

Scowling, Seb subsided. He could see her point, even if he didn't like it and he knew she was right. Pacing, he threw himself down into the chair beside Jade. Not speaking, she reached for his hand.

Clasping it, he shot her a wry half-grin. "Sorry about this," he mumbled. "Not exactly the good time I promised you, huh?"

"They're family, Seb," she said simply. "I wouldn't expect anything else. It's where you should be."

Squeezing her hand, he acknowledged the sentiment gratefully.


	17. Chapter 17

Walking down the long tile corridor with Marella and Michael to Saint John's room was the longest walk String decided he'd ever had to make. Memories kept clogging his brain of him and Saint John when they'd been kids, the way Saint John had looked when he'd hauled him out of the lake the day their parents had died - half-drowned himself, how he'd held him while they'd waited for Dom, the day he'd lost him in 'Nam, the leads that hadn't panned out over the years, the glorious day Saint John had returned seemingly from the dead and hauled him out of the VA hospital when he'd decided there was nothing left to live for, no reason to go on.

He jerked to a halt in the middle of the hall.

What would he do if Sinj died?

If it were his fault?

How could he live with himself?

Did he even want to?

He groaned, the black pit of depression threatening to suck him in, raking a trembling hand over his face, striving to maintain the façade.

"Hawke?" Marella asked, turning at the door in front of him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed, knowing he was anything but. "Coming," he joined them with dragging steps only to pause again outside the door, trying to reconcile himself with the fact this might be his only chance to say goodbye to the brother who he'd loved his entire life.

* * *

Sitting in a hard plastic chair, sipping bitter coffee long since gone cold Caitlin raised red-rimmed eyes to Hawke and Mike. "I think it's time we called Jo."

Not expecting that one, Mike's light blue eyes widened in surprise. Hunting for words, he raised the Styrofoam cup to his lips trying to formulate a tactful answer.

Hawke didn't have the same problem. "Why, Cait?" he demanded bitterly. "Jo pretty much showed how she felt about Saint John when she left him. So far as I'm concerned, she gave up any rights where he's concerned when she did that."

Rubbing her thumb along the edge of the cup, Caitlin frowned. "She was hurting when Bella died, String."

"You think he wasn't?" Hawke snarled angrily. "Hell, her death about destroyed him!"

Caitlin shot a worried glance over at the kids, finding Nicky watching the tableau in silence. "Shh-hh," she hissed, motioning to the kids.

Scowling, Hawke lowered his voice, his eyes still angry. "Bella was Saint John's daughter, too, Cait. I know it hurt Jo when she drowned! It hurt all of us.

But Jo did him one worse. The one person he should've been able to turn to, to know what he was feeling, turned her back on him and walked out."

Mike frowned. He knew Hawke's attitude towards anything that threatened his family, but there was more to it than that. Too many times Saint John had crashed on his couch after too many beers that year for him to think otherwise. Jo'd been depressed, but he wasn't so sure Saint John hadn't been worse. They'd both been a mess - Jo so numb she could barely function, and Sinj so driven by his own personal demons he couldn't sit still in his own skin. Hawke had been no help with his own personal pain over the girl's death. They'd all had to find their own way that year, and he wasn't so sure she ever had.

Cait tried again. "Please, String. I know they had their problems, but they loved each other once. Maybe seeing Jo will motivate Saint John to fight, goodness knows nothing else has, as it is we're losing him. At the very least, she deserves the chance to say goodbye and so does he."

Hawke scowled into his coffee cup, before he rose and stared out the darkened window to the grounds below. After a long silence, he finally spoke. "What makes you think she'll even come?" he demanded hurt and frustration evident in his voice.

"I don't know that she will, String. But I do think we need to try," she returned.

Mike waited, wondering if he should just overrule Hawke and call her himself. Hawke was convinced it was a bad idea and he'd seen herds of mules far less stubborn.

Finishing the cup of coffee, String crumpled the cup throwing it at the garbage can and missing. He didn't seem to notice. "Fine, suit yourself," he grimaced. "Call her, don't know that it'll make any difference anyway."

Mike breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't be ducking punches with String when this was over.

Cait nodded. "I'll talk to Marella, get her contact number." With that, she rose to her feet and paced down the hall.

Hawke blindly watched her go, his thoughts a tangled morass of emotions. What else could they be? He asked himself grimly. Jo had once been his friend, too, family and to this day he couldn't understand her betrayal.

The sharp staccato of heels on the tile floor caught his attention, ripped him back to the present. He and Mike turned simultaneously, Hawke having a sinking feeling he knew what it would be before Marella spoke.

"Hawke! Mike! I think you'd better come. Saint John's taken a turn for the worse."


	18. Chapter 18

The flight back from Italy was cramped and noisy, a trip Jo had sworn she'd never make again. After all, she'd thought there was no reason to go back. The two years she'd spent working for the Firm and Jason Locke and Archangel had cured her of any bent in that direction. And after Bella's death…sweet, beautiful Bella, her baby she thought wistfully, the thought still painful all this time later - after Bella's death, she and Saint John couldn't bear to be in the same room together.

She didn't blame him. How could she, after all? She could barely stand her own company. She was the one to blame for their daughter's death and they both knew it.

Saint John had been heartbroken, lost. He'd wanted a child so badly, had envied String and Cait, Nicky and their happiness. She could still remember his whoop of joy when she'd told him she was pregnant.

A sad smile crossed her lips. They'd been happy - if only for a little while. She and Sinj running the hanger, both of them stepping away from the spy business and into a reasonable normal life - except when String needed bailing out.

Stringfellow Hawke. The smile disappeared, replaced by a worried frown. He wouldn't have forgiven her for leaving his brother, still wouldn't understand. The man was such a straight arrow, it made her want to scream.

She'd known him when they'd been children - fun loving, nothing but trouble, worshipped the ground Saint John walked on. The years since then had changed him, hardened him. He'd lost that ready smile and the drop-dead baby blues had taken on a decidedly dangerous, cold glint. The only thing that hadn't changed had been his love for his brother. Couldn't have - not to have kept him hunting the sixteen long years Saint John had been missing.

That was what made it all the harder. When she'd left, Saint John had already been gone - burying himself in work and the Firm's business, getting sucked back into that quagmire he'd never really left. There'd been far too many nights after Bella's death he'd come home half-drunk or not at all. She'd begun to wonder if he was having an affair somewhere, not that she could blame him. What must he think every time he looked at her, touched her?

Hawke had come to her, talked to her when he'd realized she was leaving. Hawke of the few smiles and angry, taciturn eyes desperate to save his brother once more. It hadn't gone well.

He tried to convince her to stay. Had assured her Saint John still loved her, still needed her, but in the end she'd known the truth - they were better off without each other. She'd told Hawke that, still remembered the angry hurt in his eyes when he'd slammed out of the door that day. His rejection had hurt almost as much as the leaving. He wouldn't have forgotten that, Hawke seldom forgot anything. It might simmer unbidden underneath the surface, but it wouldn't be forgotten.

Nervously, she pleated the napkin in her lap that the stewardess had brought with her drink. Ten hours into the twenty-three hour trip and she was sick with fear. Fear of facing Hawke and those accusing blue eyes again, fear of seeing Saint John, of losing him, of saying goodbye, and most of all the fear she wouldn't get there in time.

She knew Saint John no longer loved her, that their marriage was over and had been pretty much since Bella had died, but that didn't mean she loved him any less or that this would be any easier.

At best, all she could hope for was absolution and maybe to say goodbye. Leaning back against the seat, she looked unseeingly out the side window as the tears began to fall.

* * *

Cait poked her head into Saint John's room. Blue-green eyes crinkled in a sad smile at Mike as he raised his head to look at her. Where's String? She mouthed, only to have him jut his thumb in the direction of the other chair.

Slumped in it, head pillowed on the far side of the bed, his hand on his brother's as if by shear force of will he could keep him here, Hawke slept.

Mike joined her in the doorway.

"Any better?" Cait whispered, watching String stir uneasily at the sound of her voice. Gripping Mike's arm, she gently tugged him out into the hall to continue their conversation.

Troubled light blue eyes met hers, under a shock of wavy blonde hair. "Not really, Cait," he said, his gaze going to his friend. "It's like he's just hanging on."

The freckled red-head peered through the window in the door with a frown. "Did String tell Saint John, Jo was on her way?"

The boyish-looking pilot shrugged. "Yeah, but it's hard to guess how much Saint John actually understood. He's been pretty out of it the last twelve hours."

Cait cast a sympathetic glance at Mike. "Why don't you go home and get a little shut-eye? I'll call you if anything happens."

Mike sighed. "Nah, I appreciate it Cait, but I think I'll stay." He wiped a weary hand over his face. "I wouldn't mind if you'd go and keep them company while I rustle up a cup of coffee though."

"You got yourself a deal," she said giving him a warm hug.

He returned it, reluctantly releasing her. "I'll be back soon," he murmured, before striding quietly down the hall in search of some coffee.

Quietly, Cait watched him go as she slipped inside Saint John's room. Perching in the chair Mike had just vacated, she ran her eyes over Sinj's pale face worriedly even as she reached for his hand.

The long fingers were cold in hers, and she wrapped her own around them in an effort to warm them. "Hey, Sinj," she whispered. "Just wanted to stop in and say hi, even if our two guys are hogging all the time with you."

Her smile trembled for a moment, before she went resolutely on. "We're all waiting for you to wake up, buddy. Amelia wants to know where her Uncle Sinj is, Michael and Marella are here. Even Roper."

She paused, looking over at the shock of coffee-brown hair pillowed wearily on the other side of the bed. She drew a breath and continued, deliberately cheerful. "I don't know whether String told you or not, but Jo's on her way. She should be here soon." there was no reaction to her words and she sighed heavily, fighting the sting of tears. Gently she placed the cold fingers under the blanket as Mike walked back into the room.

"You're back," she said, blinking back tears. "That was quick. Guess I'd better go before Nurse Ratchet catches all of us in here." She moved to brush past him.

The hand that caught her arm was firm. "You okay, Cait?" Mike asked, the laughing blue eyes for once serious.

"Yeah," she said giving him a smile that was a little watery. "I'll be fine. You keep an eye on our two guys there…I need to see where Jo's plane is."

Unconvinced, Mike held her arm. "You sure?" he asked.

"No, not really," Cait replied her chin trembling, "but that and praying are all I know to do, and since I've been up all night praying, maybe checking on the flight would be a good idea now." Pulling away, she hurried down the hall before the tears could fall.

* * *

_The darkness pressed in cold and oppressive, biting at him, dragging him under. Fighting it Hawke stumbled down a path, lost. Saint John had been here only a moment ago, where was he now?_

_The she-wolf appeared ahead of him, her coat black-tipped and dark. She waited as if expecting him to follow._

_He hesitated as she growled again, found his feet following her of their own volition. Black, swift moving water appeared ahead, eddying and swirling amongst the rocks by his feet. The wolf waded in it expecting him to follow._

_He stepped in it, gasping in surprise as the icy water rushed into his boots. Startled, he looked down at the water, spotted a child of five or six in it, floating face down, blonde hair streaming behind her._

_Every thought flew out of his head, except get her, get her now, save her. Plunging into the icy water, he dove towards the limp little body sweeping through the water with swift, strong strokes. Lungs burning, he came up for air, gasping and spluttering. The child was nowhere in sight, now only an overturned boat floating on choppy water._

_A muscular teenager of sixteen or so, clung to it, half-drowned, dark blonde hair dripping into his eyes, Desperately, he dove again and again, Hawke's own name screamed from his lips._

_Shivering in the cold water, Hawke stared at him in confusion. "Sinj?" he whispered. "But…how?"_

_A heavy splash sounded behind him, and Hawke spun to look. It was Saint John as he knew him today. He struggled in the water, flailing and Hawke looked out past him. Further out, about to go under for the third time, he spotted Jo, treading water and trying to hang on to the child he'd spotted earlier._

"_Jo!" her name ripped from his lips, even as he turned to look at his brother. "No, Sinj!" he cried. "I'll get her, wait! Just wait!"_

_With a strength borne of desperation he struck out towards the drowning woman, strong, muscled arms cleanly cutting the water, pulling through the distance that separated them. _

_Breathing hard, he reached for her…_

"String! String! Wake up," Seb spoke, shaking him awake. "It's only a dream."

Snatching awake, Hawke stared at him with dazed blue eyes. Confused, his glance flew to the bed where Saint John still slept, restlessly. Mike stood at the door talking to Cait.

Watching him, Seb frowned. "You okay, man?" he asked.

Hawke peered at him blankly for a moment as if trying to puzzle out where he fit into it all. The dream came back to him with breathtaking clarity. Fear burbled up in his chest, cutting off his air. He might not get it, but he knew beyond a certainty he had to get to Jo to save his brother.

He lunged from the chair, nearly overturning it in his haste, grabbing his bomber jacket off the nearby table.

"String?" Seb exclaimed, wondering what had gotten into his older brother. In stunned astonishment, he watched him charge out of the room.

"Hawke?" Cait called in utter confusion. "Hawke, where are you going?"

There was no answer from the hallway, he was gone.

* * *

The plane touched down on the tarmac, bumping as it did so. Staring out the window at the Los Angeles airport, Jo Santini Hawke sighed as the plane taxied to a halt. Not the return she'd imagined, not that she'd thought she'd ever be back here. Showed how little she knew, she thought bitterly.

Grabbing her carry-on bag, she walked down the aisle towards the gate. Stumbling off the ramp and stepping through the doorway, she paused trying to get her bearings. Looking up from the phone number Cait had given her scrawled on a piece of paper, she raised her eyes.

To meet the bluest eyes she'd ever known. Standing there, at the edge of the waiting area, rocking back and forth impatiently on his heels stood…Hawke.

"String?" she breathed, hardly believing her eyes. Fear forgotten, her heart pounded against her chest like a caged bird against iron bars. "Oh, String, it is you!" And then she was flinging herself across the waiting area, carry-on dropping at her feet.

"Jo?" he whispered, spotting the petite blonde stepping through the gate. In spite of everything, he felt a grin split his face as she squealed his name and ran across the room towards him. Grabbing her in his arms, he swung her around oblivious to the amused grins of the waiting passengers around them

She smelled like citrus, and flowers and home, he thought. He couldn't believe how much he'd missed that smell, the sound of her laughter. Laughter that'd been in short supply the last two years.

Setting her down, he leaned back to look at her, absently thanking the stewardess who handed them her carry-on bag as the other passengers streamed around them to the boarding gate.

"You came," he commented, abruptly hating the accusatory way the words sounded. She was too thin, he thought critically. Sharp eyes spotted the fine lines around her eyes that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her.

Pain flared in her hazel eyes, before her chin came up defiantly. "I said I would, Hawke. He still is my husband, you know."

Her words hit a hot button within Hawke almost instantly, bitterness rising up leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. "Yeah," String drawled disdainfully. "You got a funny way of showing it."

Rage blinding and fierce coursed through her, out of nowhere. Furious, she raised her left hand and slapped him with a resounding smack. "How dare you!" she ranted. Around them, heads turned taking in the scene. A stewardess motioned for a security guard.

"Not here!" Hawke hissed, catching her hands before she could let loose again, his cheek reddening under her blow. Seizing her hand, he practically dragged her towards the entrance of the airport. "You got bags?" he ground out, between clenched teeth.

"Huh?" Jo queried, confused by the abrupt change in conversation and almost trotting to keep up with the pace he was setting.

"Bags. You know, suitcases," he snarled impatiently.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Didn't know how…" she trailed off awkwardly at the stricken look in his eyes. She groaned mentally. Ugh, Jo girl, that was brilliant, she thought. Remind the man his brother is dying, the man you love is dying. Oh boy, did she know how to put her foot in it.

Tears of remorse welled up in her eyes. Would they never get this right? She wondered. They were both losing someone they loved, surely they could do it without ripping each other apart?

Suitcases spilled onto the belt, the security guard still watching them for any other disruptive behavior.

"There," she said, pointing to a black one with a pink ribbon tied to the handle. "That's mine."

Grunting, String swung it off the conveyor. "That it?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"Yeah," she replied, reaching awkwardly for his arm. "Look String," she murmured. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. I…I just didn't think." She shrugged awkwardly under the dark gaze he gave her. "You made me angry, and…well," she said, looking wistfully up at him. "Think maybe, we could just start over?"

String stared at her for a long moment, before he blew out a heavy breath, shaking his head with a wry half-grin tugging his mouth. "We always did have a way of rubbing each other the wrong way."

"Yeah," she grinned faintly remembering. "But we made a hell of a team when we worked together."

Meeting her gaze, he gave her a rare whole-hearted smile. "Yeah, we did."

"Truce?" she asked, holding out her hand.

The dark blue eyes searched hers for a moment, before he reached for her hand. "Truce," he promised.

Hefting her bag, the two of them headed out to String's jeep. Noting the red, white and blue colors, she smirked. "Not much changes around here, I see."

Tossing her suitcase in the back, String thought of his son, Roper whom she'd yet to meet. "You might be surprised," he replied enigmatically.

Raising an eyebrow at him, she climbed in. He offered nothing else, however.

Shifting the jeep into gear, he hit the gas. Attention focused on the road, as the scenery flew by, he left Jo to her own thoughts.

Not a good idea, she thought wryly. She knew she was broaching disaster, but she couldn't not ask.

"String?" she queried.

"Hmm-m," he answered, still not looking at her.

She drew a hesitant breath, hoping she wasn't about to fire the bullet that broke the truce. "I have to know. How bad is Sinj?"

He threw a quick glance her way, before he turned his attention back to the road. "Not good," her murmured. "They're saying maybe a couple days, if he's lucky. His body is starting to show signs of shutting down."

Jo cringed at the raw pain in his voice, her own heartache mixing with his all too obvious sorrow. She reached across the seat for his hand, giving it a sad squeeze. "I'm sorry, String."

He made no comment, but she noticed the way the muscle ticked in his jaw. Yeah, she thought, he was hurting. He might never say it, but it was there.

Pulling her hand back, she clasped her fingers together in her lap trying to contain her own pain, her need to know, but she couldn't. "How Hawke?" she whispered, the words almost blown away by the wind. "I need to know."

Not surprisingly, his keen ears caught her words. He sighed. "Mission for Michael. Serious mind-altering drug, we stole. One of his agents got caught, there was an explosion."

She frowned. There was more to it, she knew. There always was with Hawke. "And?"

He slowed, looking over at her. The blue eyes were troubled, guilty. "Cait and I went to a wedding, couple months back."

"Uh, huh," she murmured, trying desperately to figure out how this had anything to do with the mission.

"There was an aerial stunt the next morning and we left the reception early, hoping to make it back to the hanger before it was so late."

"Right," she encourage, feeling a frown settle between her brows.

"Storm came up." He stated matter of factly. "I missed a turn, rolled the car down an embankment."

Jo drew an uneasy breath, sensing it had been a close call. Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah…?"

"Nearly died," String replied succinctly. "Punctured a lung. I've been slow getting over it. This was my first mission for Archangel since then - well, aside from taking Airwolf back."

Taking Airwolf - back? She thought hesitantly. Okay, obviously there was a lot he wasn't saying.

Hawke continued. "I probably shouldn't have gone, there just wasn't anyone else."

Jo nodded.

"We got the delegates out, but there was a bomb. I wanted to try to defuse it. Saint John wouldn't hear of it, insisted we make a run for it."

Most logical thing she'd heard thus far, she thought.

"We barely made it up the stairs, lots of smoke, and the door jammed. I was having a tough go of it."

Again she nodded, knowing if String said he'd been having a tough time, it'd been bad.

"Got the door down finally, knocked the wind out of me doing it. Couldn't get it together to get up. Saint John threw himself over me when the bomb blew."

Suddenly getting the gist, Jo sighed. It sounded so like the two of them. If there was trouble to be found, undoubtedly it would find the Hawke brothers. It was no surprise either Saint John had risked his life to save his brother's. Anything else would have shocked her. String was the same way.

Unfortunately, String blamed himself for his brother's sacrifice. He would, she thought without rancor. He always seemed to think it was his job to step in and try to save the world.

String slammed the jeep to a halt in the Firm's hospital parking lot. He started to get out, before he turned to her. "Your stuff should be okay here, I think," he said. "I just wanted to get back here, in case…" he trailed off. "I can take you by the apartment first, if you want," he said hesitantly.

He'd been afraid Saint John wouldn't make it 'til he got back, she realized grimly. It'd been a bigger sacrifice than she'd given him credit for when he'd come to get her.

"It's fine, String," she said. "Worst comes to worst, they're just clothes. I can always replace them."

Flashing her a relieved grin, he offered her a hand out.

Taking his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his as he helped her out. She didn't let go when she stepped out.

He turned a questioning gaze to her.

"He made the choice, String," she whispered. "It was his to make. Don't cheapen the gift with your regrets - he didn't have any. I know that."

Looking into her tear-filled eyes, String fought the lump in his throat.

Jo threw her arms around him sobbing now. Wrapping her in his own arms, String held her close, tasting the bitter salt of his own tears in her hair. Whatever their differences, he didn't doubt she loved his brother as much as he did.


	19. Chapter 19

At last, even for them, there were no more tears to fall. Sniffling, Jo searched her pockets for a tissue, finding none of course. String sighed, and fished around in the glove box finally coming up with a clean work rag. He offered it to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Only you, Hawke," she groaned. "Only you. Okay well, maybe your brother," she said with a wan smile.

A slight grin tugged at his mouth, as he drew her close in a hug. "You know I missed you," he whispered, planting a kiss in her hair, his arm loose around her waist.

Jo wiped her eyes on the scruffy red rag. "I missed you too, you lunkhead," she retorted.

"Lunkhead?" String demanded, all injured innocence as they walked towards the hospital. "I think I resent that."

"What else do you call some guy who goes around rescuing damsels in distress and can't come up with anything better than a grease rag to dry their tears?"

Hawke laughed. "I'll have you know, it was a clean grease rag!"

She rolled her eyes in exaggerated patience. "Like I was saying…"

Together, they walked through the doors, String showing ID and getting clearance. Silence descended as they climbed into the elevator, reality setting in again. Jo rubbed her hands on suddenly cold arms.

Watching her, Hawke quirked an eyebrow. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she lied before thinking better of it. "No, oh, I don't know." Blinking, tears threatened again.

String reached out a hand, took her chin in it. "We're a team," he whispered. "Remember?"

"Yeah, to the bitter end," she whispered, echoing a phrase they'd used as children.

"Tooth and nail," he reminded her of the rest of the phrase. "We fight for what's ours, tooth and nail."

She nodded meeting his eyes, squaring her shoulders as she did so. "Tooth and nail," she repeated.

The elevator doors dinged open. Jo stood frozen for a moment looking out, and then reached for Hawke's hand. String met her halfway.

Clasping hands, they stepped out, walking briskly down the corridor together.

"This is it," he said, motioning to a door halfway down the hall on his left. "You want me to come in, or wait?"

"Come," she whispered. "We're a team, remember?"

"Yeah, forgive me. I'm the lunkhead, remember."

"Right," she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

Pushing open the door, they walked in. Caitlin and Mike giving Hawke a surprised glance. Meeting her husband's gaze, Cait smiled. Seb rose from the chair beside the bed, greeting Jo with a heartfelt hug, before beating a hasty retreat to join Jade by the doorway.

Settling in Seb's vacated chair, Jo knotted her fingers in Saint John's. "I'm here, baby," she murmured, her voice husky as she brushed her thumb across his knuckles.

Hesitantly, she looked up at String standing there beside her, one hand placed supportively on her shoulder. Reaching up with her other hand, she laced her fingers through his as they sat down to wait. Heedless, she let the tears fall as she turned and kissed Saint John's hand. "Come back to me, Sinj," she whispered. "I still need you." Wearily, she bowed her head and prayed, the exhaustion and fear of the last twenty-five hours catching up with her.

* * *

_The water was deep, black and bone-chillingly cold, the coldest he'd ever felt - seeping his strength with it's brutal grip. Chest deep in it, Saint John felt it sucking at him, dragging him under. Oblivion beckoned._

_Jo's voice whispered in his ear, calling him back, encouraging him to fight. Bitterly he snorted, spitting a mouthful of water as he slid under. That ship had long since sailed, he thought, gasping as the water filled his mouth, his lungs._

_No point going there. The rock he clung to slipped in his grasp, sliding through his fingers. Sorry, little brother, he thought the words. I just can't do it this time. He slid under the water again, feeling the icy waves close over him._

"_Fight," the words whispered on the edge of his consciousness again. Spewing water, he surfaced clawing and scrabbling for air and purchase._

And he awoke, stirring restlessly, a searing pain across his ribs. Hazel grey eyes blinked open, Jo's name on his lips, feeling the slide of honey blonde strands across his fingers. Just a dream, he told himself wearily, his hand going to his side. His fingers tangled in the morass. "Jo?" he whispered frowning, dazedly, the sound low and rough. "But what…?"

String stirred in the chair beside him, muttering in his sleep.

Idly, he rubbed the strands through his fingers. Couldn't be, Saint John thought with a tired grin. But if it was a dream, he thought, at least it was a good one.

"Sinj?" the name stumbled out, a breath of wonder, desperation and relief all in one.

"Jo?" he whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open, the effort taking all his strength. "Is it really you?"

"Yeah, Sinj," she whispered, her voice tight with tears. "It's me."

"What're you doing here?" he murmured, desperately fighting the pull of darkness over him.

Reaching over, she tightened her grip on his hand. "Fighting for you, if you'll have me."

Swallowing hard, he fought against the desperate hope that threatened to clog his throat. Tugging his fingers free, he looked away. "So, how long you going to stay this time?" he asked.

She caught his fingers again, dragging them back to her. "As long as you'll have me Sinj, tooth and nail to the end. I was wrong to leave, and I'm so sorry."

"What…changed your mind?" he mumbled raggedly.

Lacing her fingers in his, she smiled tiredly, raising her head.

Exhausted, String slept on, slumped in the chair.

"That lunkhead brother of yours."

"Figures," Saint John muttered with a weak grin, glancing at String and tightening his fingers on hers. "Stay then," he whispered, realizing he still had something to keep fighting for. "Tooth and nail…to the end…always."


End file.
